Opening the newest poetry anthology
Upon my eyes lie there
A steaming pile of poetry
Uttered through self-important pens
And pretentious glances
The remains jackals
Wouldn't dare feast upon.
And there we are
Left with nothing
Found with nothing
And nothing to say.
In a self-consuming
World of woe
I have become
King of the Beggars.
In opening that book
I found in the table of contents
My own name,
And realized
I sat comfortably
Amongst the best of them.
'Better
Best
Bested.'
Denis Kucharski
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-big-steaming-pile-of-poetry/
