The Skunks Poem by Joseph Narusiewicz

No one is innocent
Fools gold and fools wisdom
Bitter sun like love forsaken
Travel without water
Seek in sullen narcissism
Finding nothing except your mirror
Partitions of a real person
Rooms of antique myths
Spend lots of time with the real you
You write for a false validation
Your circle is death
Pride the fall of angels
Humility sees the beauty
Pain strips the fluff
The real world passes by
Nothing as phony as a plastic poet
I acknowledge them too much
Biography is poison
Solitude is a butchers knife
We are cut into Siberian prisons
We are emaciated like death camps
Kafka almost burned his writings
Keats with an hour glass
Exiled in the desert
Solemn
Sacred
Tried in the fire
I am the judged charlatan
They are the bland click
They breed in their hole
They huddle like skunks