The Desiccated Scholar

The Dessicated Scholar


I met a guy in a coffee shop,
Scholarly looking to be precise.
He laughed at my poems,
Well, I don’t think that’s nice.

He told me, “The accents are wrong.”,
To do this and to do that.
“Lessen the beats, and your poems sounds, well… flat.”

He handed me a piece of paper and told me, “Read this.”
He laughed at my efforts, I pity his,
They read like words of a heartless lover armed with an empty kiss.

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