the poet

So there he sits the dunce, the dullard the toerag the eternal glowing optimist cigarette drooling on unscored paper, what kind of fool is that ? This white man deserving of nothing but contempt waiting on a line or two to drop into his lap as ash without the sense of timing even to call it quits what kind of truant is that ?

His poems, should he promise any ought to go unanswered breakfast for the institutionalized the terminally sedated

God help us they replace pistons, rods with processors so he may perch steeped in wanking a bona fide effrontery what kind of damned idiot is that anyway where are his credentials ? who encouraged him in the first instance to sit all day hatching piles while leftovers stink up the place unattended to and people come knocking just to ensure that he has not done us all a favour

what kind of a waste is that ?

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