Post Modern Poetry I know that I know nothing. I cannot conceive a thing And do not know, I might. The grassroots call for a new media To get social surroundings greening! But the old, indigenious bonzen reply: 'Don't change, what's working.' The next stars promise brighter sights. Who can build a media to travel there? But the old, indigenious experts reply: 'We are still real busy working.' Desert dust in the upper atmosphere Does not carry any mineral traces. The sharp crow scents across the grass: 'I, the post modern poet, Do not sing about life's capabilities, Disappointed, certain of my smallness, But I do not know why.'