“A Swarm of Coins”

Vex not Thou the Poet's Mind

i.am.a.fraid.i.shall.not.be.fa.mous.my.fri.end.
i.get.no.pay.che.ck.in.the.mail.
oh.hell.what.is.wro.ng?

You worry too much about Washingtons, son!
You should only use your pen for fun!

that.is.un.real.lis.tic.
mon.ey.ru.les.with.a.pa.per.fist.
do.you.sm.ell.the.swe.ll.sme.ll.of.Ber.nan.ke?

What I smell is debt, a dangling death,
and greed that feeds on the needs
of all these fellow Americans.

I implore you, wielder of words,
don’t shrink from the heaven of contentment.
Don’t write for the paper.
Write for a seemingly smaller prize:
Happiness.

o.kay.then.i.wi.ll.try:

Once.upon.a time. there was a poet.
who.though.he didn’t.know it.
was. skilled. in the.art of “showing it.”
now.i.don’t. mean a pant’s package.
but.rather how to hit. words with a tennis racket
and not be held. in a bracket,
a straight jacket,
of coins.

For when he writes
he writes with a bold passion,
to let others know
of what’s real
and how it feels
when all you see
is a swarm of coins.

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