state of the art

[constantine]

it's not an art, it's compulsion
poetry out of chaos
sometimes it rhymes
like stylish tourette,
or a dog in heat
barking, howling at the moon
and we call it poetry
but it really isn't
it's frustration and madness
it's i love my wife but i hate her guts
it's mom and dad lurking around
and around every corner of your head
remember,
when you gave him a tie for christmas,
and he laughed drunk in your face saying
that's just what i need
just what daddy fucking needs
and even if you don't remember
it still happened
and you've been a poet ever since