Mars

I am a pompous asshole
oh and how I've lied and bit my tongue
to the truth
As i gawk at culture and mark my
ink stains I call it art
how foolish of me to laugh at the
sweater clad lads of academia while
is beg and drool over their bar mates
I swear to modesty yet have never tried on
his shoes. Such an uncomfortable fit
My legs cross as I stare into the shadowless
eyes of the very people I loath
mocking them with their own ideas
using words I read is a book never understood
I am a real shaman
too intelligent for my own good, with
an ass too big for my britches
What a sensitive soul am I
O fare minded observer
I sport the laces and jockeys of
rich old spoils and sleep in the mud
of working folk
Yet I bathe myself in a lake far from
theirs
Because I am of a better breed

I lie again

Smiling at the screen I do stare into
a steaming pile of truth
I know the words but speak no essence
live a mockery of the human experience
and reap the insights
but still I dangle from the cables
and love the cars below
It is possible to be a drop while among a river
or woods within the forest
If man is thicket I am moss
If genius is a shoe
I am merely the gum stuck below