Real poets etch-a-sketch on brick wall

Concrete chalk and foam paint

Real ideas and thoughts

Snipped vines never stop growing

The idea of man was neutered

Glowing pewter, on rainy days

Stony nights and the bumblebee’s fight

Real poets paint in blood

Too stubborn to make art

Too frigid to love

Real poets live in italics

Flimsy ideas and red wine

Real poets are a plastic rose

Instead of thorns, real poets died

_Real poets are the check-out line _

_The real poet’s debt was paid_

Here they wrote, the poet croaked

And in cardboard they were laid