some idiot
decided today
was international
poetry day
as if an art
already reduced
to the barest
hallmarkification
needed an excuse
for more
needless words

poets aren’t
even real until
their booze
soaked souls
ignite in valhalla
carry no true
bearing until
the maggots feast
on their remains

somewhere an
angry bellow rustles
along the sultry
edge of oblivion
as bukowski screams

everyday is
international
poetry day
when you have
nothing but
the ink clotting
upon your ragged
cheesecloth soul