Poetry is easy.

Poetry is free.

Especially when I don’t got no degree.

Speaking like I always spoke.

Up inside my head.

Some people don’t like this.

They would rather I be dead.

They would  create a garden wall.

Around their ivory tower tall.

Lock away their proesies.

And keep the mud off their toesies.

But this garden is a wild one.

An unkempt parking lot gone to seed.

A forgotten corner where some guy just peed.

Poetry is for everyone.

Poetry is for me.