Is it wrong to think it's right
that what I write
is neither wrong nor right
depending on the light?
You may hate my choice of words
as I do.
Or praise it, raise it to glory.
In which case, what ails me heals you.
And it's all just
point of view.
Poem: "An object subject to scrutiny, mutiny by millions."
A single story
will suffer metamorphosis
at the multitude of minds
applied.
So your creative side
is useless
to the outcome
of your cry.
It's an open market.
And I won't give you
two turds for your diamond
if my girlfriend
needs aquamarine.
Sell. Sell. Sell it again
to yourself if you must.
Whichever hand holds the green.
Accolade: "Praise; better obtained if one knows who to swindle."
On a spindle tongue
the fabric of thoughts are spun,
not for the overdressed
who ponder its worth.
But for the naked ones over yonder
who bleed feedback
through warmed smiles.
Foul: "Anything landing outside the field of outcomes desired."
And all the while,
I've been sales pitching
out of the strike zone
with the wrong umpire.