Unnaturally Perfect

I see your writings- words that fall so unnaturally perfect. Parroting all that deems itself worthy, of every inch and effort, of my toilsome practice. Spitting out lifeless words of no weight and passion. I shall not worry; Your claims of glory are marked With dubious stories. The poets may confuse and drink from your mechanic chalice. But they will wise up, And double up their penmanship upon stone and heart. You don't scare me. No need for crows in tatored clothes, My stories are made of arteries that wrap around my flesh and blood.