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It's 2007 and with addition of so many new styles and genres why just be a poet when you can be a rhymster ?

the spirit of the Key
restless symptoms speak shortly thru
unrecognizable downtown lingo & hold
quick to the coat tails of World Politics
uneasiness settles among the old & new &
everything in between while jesus is alcohol
still illegal i drink jesus and belch satanic revolutions
of apocalyptic relief thinking twice over
Pluto & other planets from central telescope
cities breathing breathing breathing
like the sad silver seeds of the old moonlight
breeze & every dawn settles accordingly to the south
& every eve to the north & a motionless spectrum of
color & direction & decision in the afternoon intervals,
all squad members in the Patterned Death.

manic madness delivers the beam from which
we derive our Eternity & define our Salvation
as nothing more then tangled mystics of what
was &
is &
will &
rivers of reflected scripture continue to destroy me
& will continue to do so until i finally destroy myself
& walk to my Death with the sun in my eyes
& the colors in my brain saying so that's what
those circles are for & coming back to reveal to
"my fellow animals" how i've seen it all how it's all
clear how god is real how god is buddhist how nothing
can be explained how everything is stretched how the
only real words are written in the clouds how flowers are
but flowers & strings are but strings how loneliness is
THE invitation how too much of anything is
lousy intelligence how freedom is a word unfound in street signs or
bible signs or any real 'hip' signs of generation debate how wisdom
is a circle lost in space how dead lambs are worthless
faith-bait how abraham and judas and moses broke into
the savings bank for a little payback-well overdue how
boredom is a private mystery how art is unknown in the gates
of health how the no smoking section is an obvious phase
of earth-hell how nothing anyone can say can ever explain
this inconspicuous love affair of the mothers & fathers
& hellfire preachers & jokers of faith & conmen of hope
& gardens of love & rockets to the cheese man & all
this whole time all your prayers were lost between your holy
teeth and the holy heavens stuck somewhere in the alley of
atmosphere broken down into different containers and
re-marketed in salvation army bargain stores for cheap profit
& cheap sex & cheap drugs & cheap thrills & cheap morals
& cheap faith & cheap salvation from a cheap god with
cheap facial issues & cheap palm-holes & cheap garden robes &
cheap superpowers & cheap fire & cheap lessons of guilt and
destruction & i sit on my cloud exclaiming my poetic visions
with half of my heart intent on my struggle and the other half
intent on the true cheapness of this lonesome lonesome time.

Daniel Johnson, United States

“A poet's hope: to be,

like some valley cheese,

local, but prized elsewhere.”
W. H. Auden (1907-1973)