It’s another poem but don’t be mad, just like check it out at your leisure

Along the rows of empty
houses and the attempt
to display only the good
in every life, you would
not wish such confidence
games to be found dense
in the culture. But displays
are inescapable and says
little about anyone’s truthfulness.
Perhaps the best
thing you might consider
is to dither your disdain with some sort
of love or acceptance. The sort
of thing you might find
in the ideal church or winding
river. Your heart is in the land
but not in its people. Have
you stopped to thank anyone?
If not, you’ve shunned
the treasure. All should be judged,
sure. But morals are not a cudgel
unless held up in anger.

a poem written today — idk seemed cool might delete later

May you fasten your imagery
to the shoulders of the New Yorker’s overblown
and let them melt as Icarus wax
too close to the sun of fame.
Your Daedalus is the anxiety of influence
blooming always in your ambition
to wow with craft.
So perhaps relax as though birdwatching.
Enjoy the words as they come to you—
syllables hovering along a satisfied ocean.