poem, poetry, writing, reader, postmodern

BET YOU

bet you
you read this wrongly

take it
the wrong way
to a wrong place
against
the grain

exult in your power
as supreme
bad reader

sorry to
point this out
rain on your
May Day parade
of tanks
and workers

but everybody
misreads me
it is my fate,
the flaw
in my system

story
of my life
that gets blocked
at the school
board

denounced
in the praesidium

even though
it is all
so unreal

a game,
a mystery within
a mystery

one of those
far-fetched, trying
to push the envelope,
post-
modern, self-
reflexive tales

recounted by the most
untrustworthy of
openly
unreliable narrators

way too
metaphoric of its own
good

mirror image
of the stupid sublimity
of all
cosmic creation