Scented ink on lonesome ground,
smells of teen spirit now bound.

Gay quills refuse to become unfettered streams;
bold stories are now shattered dreams;
bland profanity fills my screen;
truth lies jesting, riveted and branded.

A Steer broke loose kicking and writhing;
he strikes a pose, his ego enchanted,
from all of his sinew comes proud boastings;
his chest expanding, crying,
where are all the Poets !

Here ...
Here we are ...
But what the H*** would you care ?