Welcome to my Landfill

Poetry is a wormy landfill

We dump our deepest and darkest secrets

Into a grease pit of vengance and depression

We blow our lover's ashes into the eyes of every reader

And wipe our ideals on to emotional toilet paper

Then charge people to read it

But poetic landfills differ from real ones

Poetic landfills are often gazed upon and admired

People will listen to lunatics

Rage about society's injustices

They will listen to romantics

Repulsively thorn over their latest lover

And what do we do?

We clap and comiserate

Roaring like Romans in the coliseum

Because it is in this wasteland of poetry

That we dare to dream that the damned

Can be delightful

And that our worms

Our lurking, slithering worms

Deserve their own pair of butterfly's wings

 

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Starward's picture

Well done.  Have you read

Well done.  Have you read Stevens' poem, "Man on the Dump"?  Has a similar theme.  Your images are very striking.


Starward