requiem for a poem

I felt a need
to write something tonight
but nothing I could think of
seemed to fit right

Phrases and themes occured
that might sound good
and please the ear
like veneer on wood,
but make the world
an iota worse understood

See, I've written so much before
books of well-liked obscurity,
not the appropriate ideas
nor passed through the proper channels
to produce another round
of glitzy corporate samsara

I know plenty of horrible things
I could put in red ink
but I know more beautiful
and so my will sinks...

because these are distant dreams,
lost memories,
and wished for futures:
my life these days is hardscrabble
not desperate enough to be peaked
but some art comes out of the rabble...
sometimes