Digging in the dirt,
Piling it up on the side of life’s remains,
The sophisticated sledge hammer aristocrats,
modular home dwelling tweakers,
and somnambulant brutes,
Continue to be the Rembrandts of failed articulation.
The words of these desolate poets,
Arcane underwriters of nickel and dime novels,
Are excavated rhetorical essays,
That plod they’re way through explanations,
Citing myths and legends as declarative proof of they’re sincerity.
I seek the ear shot rumblings of the post haste nonchalant soul engravers.
They have little to say,
But much to offer. – Sinz
