matt fromm - Exposure

And the kid couldn't write
Oh he pushes, he forces it out beleive me
But he just can't come out with it
Nothing but a pathetic dribble instead of the normal bus
All that shit I do
All that shit I talk
All that time I spend in sitting in a closet for God sakes
Stinkin' up the place and for what
Not even the precious four dollar words
Like irrevocable
Or subconcious Kerouac copying
You know over use of words like forelorn
And Imensity
Or deliberate Buk ripoffs
Talking bout booze and assholes
Truth is I'm sad, broken
So pent up rust has accumulated
Through the cheap cigar smoke
And the male fly buzzing around my face
I see with the utmost certainty
The kid just can't write
He's not even close
The kids had too much time.
More time then most deserve.
The kid can fake it all he want's
But it won't work.
The kid can pretend he's not a
Craftsmen and that he dosn't try or care
But he does.
He tries to write he really does.
Maybe a few more broken bottles to the
Heart'll do him some good.
I think that fly left.
It's 1: 30 in the A.M.
I did'nt know flies flew
At this hour.

matt fromm

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/exposure-5/