Cerulean

Cerulean

So, you’ve decided
to be a writer now.
I can’t really say I blame you.
All it takes
is a pinch of bluff,
ChatGPT, narcissism enough.

Any clichés will do—here’s a few
I recommend an acquaintance with;
from what I’ve seen,
they’re always used:

Take courage
in thawed thickets of dew,
soak crystal mosaics
in torrents of fire,
meld moist music,
caress with sapphire,
remember our lips
that kissed and touched,
wander forever
through sorrowful shadows,
where your intoxicated
sighs lead you,
and remember - always substitute
cerulean for blue.

As earlier observed, stack words high,
like children’s ABC blocks—
a teetering tower
balanced by your best word
jammed on top in caps lock,
call it a title.

You’re up and running.
An average punter calls it stunning,
re-tweets your name,
and wonders why
they don’t dive in
to give this piece of piss a try.

And if you run out
of all that nature stuff above,
or some dumb fuck
you once put your trust in
won’t spark your stone heart—
and who said all you ever did
was sit on your ass,
bottom of the class,
thumbing through pages
without a clue
from a manual titled
How Don’t You Do—
well, remember this:

There’s shit ones out there,
but if you call them out
you’re a hater.
They’ll bless themselves
in bottled water
labelled absolution
or vindicator.

So rebrand yourself
as book promoter,
aspire to be an influencer.
Tweet quotes you barely know,
watch piles of likes grow.
Post content, moan,
send messages, sit alone.
And, more than this, do it all
from the comfort of home.