Didactic poetry is canned dog food
but maybe that will change again someday.
Doubt’s the fox to imagination’s hens;
read like hell makes a pretty good shot gun
but so does I don't care, I'll do it my way.
I was raised by vague pronoun references,
schooled by dangling modifiers, and if
I want my life to have been lived in
the passive voice it may be that the things
I want are not so much my choice as they are
the sum of my previous experiences
impressed upon my genetic makeup.
A candle doesn’t care if it’s dark or light;
the utility of an object is, well, duh.
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