He has no time for poetry, or predilection for it

The nuance, the play, that silly obsession with the color or the shape

It’s all angles and concrete for him, a direct correlation between input and output

For there are grievances to be filed and mockeries to be offended by

Injustice upon injustice placed on the mantle, forefront and center, to be admired and derided and regarded just so

He’s not a bad man, just one who has been blind sided one time too many

To see things for what they are