Metapoetry: Shooting from the Hip (Or, Amateur without Apology)

It’s not about being good enough or even “good” at all.

August 26, 2024

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Unlike others who meticulously craft
Refined slugs, taking careful aim;
I spew wide cones of birdshot, deaf-blind;
Ineffective against all but the smallest and weakest.
The wild sprays reek of desperation
Imprecise, unfocussed, and
[a real poet would know exactly what word to put here].

But, fuck it, I ain’t stoppin’.
There’s no apologies here,
There’s no quitting as long as
I need to sense, and understand, and see
The ethereal currents charging through me
Given form and made real.
If these cheap-ass, stumbling verses are what it takes
To keep me on this side of the crosshairs,
Then so be it.