Poets

Some poets write like this.

Endless bound eternity
Nitwitted macrocosm
Not only of men
Why?
Undone humanness
Eternal indentured
Nothingness
All of conception
Ruefulness the same

And Others write like this.

I wish that I could see
That picture of you and me
Walking without our shoes
Drinking a bottle of booze

And there is always this.

Some poets write what's felt,
others gleam through the seen.
Both playing the hand dealt
and some are very keen.
Other, well not so much
Observation the key,
except when in a clutch,
then write something like me.

I guess because we can.

Gotta go find, my shoes
Nah!
Think I will try the booze.