eye in the sky

Indecipherable dribble
Arranged in little rows
Conveys as much meaning
As the lint between my toes

64 lines
about the dust upon a sill
How every spec a universe
I think I’m gonna be ill

Every kid knows that
poems should rhyme
but this is prose they say
if they can’t find words that sound the same
they claim “it’s supposed to be that way”

Pretentious poet’s statements
Of  existential rot
I could go on complaining
But I think I’d better not.