Speaking about how schools kill creativity.
And touching on the subject of industrialism
fostering a hierarchical mode of education,
with art on the bottom
of an abstract pyramid.
I can’t help but to be wary of listening to comfy “knighted” doctors
making profit off of selling books on educational theory.
There isn’t anything wrong with this not being a poem.
Just like there isn’t anything of substance inside those
capsules we give to the little ones,
besides it being addictive medication.
I would have preferred you to not just prod at the truth,
but make a fist and hammer at our decaying machine.
I guess that’s why I’ll never be a mainstream or alternative anything.
Since both are one and the same.
Since I’m not kosher.
I am a pig.
My poems are slices of bacon.
My words are gray dull grease.
The effect of which is a blissful heart attack.