Poems

I admit that in this wide world of ours
More forms of art abound than
My collection of U2 shirts

Yet one thing escapes me
And that is the way some poems are
Written, formed, divined, printed

The ones that strain your
Eyes
To read

By amalgamating, blending, coalescing
Word from some huge Thesaurus
Enmeshed together by painful analogies and Uhu Glue

The ones with quirky
Wording and sentence structure
And grammar fit to stupefy any language teacher

Perhaps it is just
Myself, me and I
The only one who think such poems obtuse and abstract

Thank god then