in it, caught to dreams…

in it, caught to dreams and future hope, now that they all have some money and some power they boss the world around as if time gave them the world like daddy’s business, as if they’ve moved into poetry’s three piece suit, with power on their mind, it’s a poor substitute for youthful hopes, maybe poverty and not being acknowledged is necessary to artists, maybe it’s an ideal because it keeps them where they don’t own it