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Dinosaur Shit
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Some poems, maybe mine, are like crap:
ejecta that once out there, should be flushed.
Or if especially flagrant or fragrant, they get spread-
like nightsoil, upon the imaginations of others;
there to fertilize nascent verses.
Other poems, maybe mine, are like dinosaur shit:
rare and sought after.
And when found, they are
collected,
selected,
inspected,
corrected,
maybe rejected,
shaved thinly, mounted on slides and put under microscope.
They get discussed at symposia and written up in scholarly journals.
Either way, they all start off as someone's crap.
i love this poem. such a great premise. there's only one thing that stands out...the last line lacks punch. it's lofty yet humorous up until then where it's just "blah, here's an explanation in case you couldn't figure it out." i'm unsure on whether or not a final line is necessary, but either way you may want to revisit this. everything else is, as i've previously stated, superb. come back to the espresso house, i miss having you around.