for a moment today I felt bitter and pissy, and I thought,

Sure, I could write a better poem than you
with words bloodthirsty, wet, and true

for while you play allusive bombardier 
I do not find your hagiography sincere

I would give your diligence its due–
for what man’s a man that knows he’s through?

if I had charms to put to sleep
all but the tenth of you that I would keep

Sweet Christ I really am no good at rhyming. It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ll just… avoid it. Contemporary poets can do that, right? Or start writing in German…