Beseeching The Masters Poem by Hakeem Rahim

I teeter between
the complexity of Walcott
and the simplicity of Clifton.
Both call my pen.
A portion of me feels no allegiance
to either; lecherous,
I feed on both;
I think only of my profit.
Another part of me
Is shot through with guilt.
These poets,
That man, that woman
Masters of their art—
I, pupil of their words;
I, imbiber of their styles,
Only ask for one thing:
Mercy for my page,
If these words I write be injurious.