Blessed Are the Amateurs

Blessed are the amateurs, the vanity presses,
the unkerned letters of the world.

Blessed who’ve not yet begun
listlessly manipulating English
and calling it verse;
who scribble relentless words
like quartz singing from the quarry,
jagged and still three quarters slag;
who have something to say!
who are going to say it!

They have not yet bent double
under the weight of language
and its gravitas.