The Poet

The poet looms large over those who would call themselves his peers

He has no equals; he is an envoy of his own philosophy

His days are spent in perpetual hypnagogia

His nights are spent in labours unworthy of his time, following in the tradition of Bukowski

The poet is not quiet and he refuses to be ignored

His message is the bitter pill his oath is to administer it frequently and without regard for demand

The poet's death is his final victory

To have been overlooked in his own time only makes his point and to be lost to history only strengthens its meaning