Another meta poem...

about being a poet

You need a life to write about life

And you need money to live a life 

For that money you must work 

And the working takes your life

I see no other way for a poet to be... 

but a bandit, a robber, 

free 

Hungry, hopeful, 

living in a quandary 

No expectations, 

stolen exaltations 

Perhaps siphoning out 

the beauty from the abandoned 

refuse of a society which

refuses to acknowledge the sacred

splendour of everything