Lesser Artists

in that less artistic
world where
some of us belong
like rats that pride
an exclusive passage
to the basement and
the ceiling direct
to the kitchen
let poems just be
a matter of
self-automation,
no lamp to rub
no genie to ask that
our wishes be granted
just stare at the window
look down below
focus on a stone
or the worm on a hot
summer day
and see what you
can write... so well.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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