Poeta Non Grata


I could be your damage, an image
who manages to avatar for
ciphers imagined relevance, this
talent of mine more supportive of

concepts no one else has had a hand
in crafting, casting in my art its
artifice’s message my shadow
extends as an artist’s fan-service,

now, no one’s perfect, you know it, yet
pretend not to notice, go through its
emotionless myth disadvantaged,
now’s my chance to correct course, finesse

into truest existence an edge
you never knew existed, oh, yes,


my interior Self perspectived
enough for once to reposition
me, who doesn’t believe in static
currency, fluidity the cost

of recasting in bronze every
flaw idolatrous to the plastic
electricity empowering
his defeat from below as above

of a defiant tyrant tasked with
trying to fight my self-denying
soul’s cathartic flight, manifested
transference transformed by real magic

more self-heal than selfie by some mage
alchemied into an æsthetic


defining beauty beyond an age,
era, philosophy, or body,
the same strong voice speaking through lyrics
different people all acknowledge

as one song’s pull no matter the words,
the only thing we can know (how strange!)
is the one thing we can change: us, not
the world, as poeta non grata,

more than just a persona I live,
by its unrelenting verve I give
what I hope you’ll forgive I expect
to get, not respect, but readership

not more widespread but more lucrative
than whatever else you fill your head with.