A No Poet

you insolent chopstick of a boy

you call yourself

a young poet

in the reasonably warm social circles

a wannabe poet

when warm humility is needed

you call yourself a fucking awesome poet

when her warmth is won and spent

and you’re in front of the mirror

but you know you are an insolent chopstick of a boy

and I know you are an insolent chopstick of a boy

and no, you’re never gonna be the best poet

just like I’m never gonna be the best poet

you who won't drop the pen

though i’m the disappearing ink:

go fight your windmills

find yourself a Sancho Pancho and a donkey

though you see in the distance that

I am the windmills

go on pretending to be a fat little Buddha

burn your heart for an incense

though you know from the smoke

I am the Nirvana

go hold her hand under the Moon

let the night cover her faults for you

though you know in the dusk and dawn

I am the Sun.

go fight the casinos valiantly

keep wearing that poker face

though you know that on every chip you win

it is my stamp that you’ll see.

but keep calling yourself a young poet

or a wannabe poet

or a fucking awesome poet

i’ve won this game

the first time you finally shut the fuck up in the night

and the wrinkles of your bedsheet called to you:

‘You are a no poet, Kut

stop imitating the old lizards.’