Analysis of A Wide-Eyed Rascal

Individual imagination
swerves across an eloquent expression,
poetic thought juggles complexity
with simplicity's creative angles,
wordy wisdom tumbling through easy ways.

A poet is: a wide-eyed street rascal
who throws stones at passing cars as laughter
gathers the night's suicide with cold nets,
and middle aged women that blow kisses
to strangers in bars while smoke rings billow.

Composition strangles black and white life
as birth wraps chords in slaps of existence,
slaughtered sonnets and visual villanelles
roam ghosts; chained to sexual desire,
the wire of compassion in each of us.

A dreamer suffocating in a world
of intensity while the dead pen spins,
where political correct winks then wanks
humanity's twelve inch ego until...
it spills personalities; messed up verse.

I'm a poet! In an age of penny
for your thoughts and inspiration's red eyes,
a character that puts two fingers up
then moves in closer to touch the tongue's curl,
a fighter in a time of cowardice.