the light

there is no
future in this,
she tells me.
there is no hope
or money
in poetry. you
can write all
you want, but
the world will
not care.
write a novel,
or a screenplay,
write something
with meat
on it's bones.
something visual
that can be
bought and sold.
therein lies
your gold,
your salvation,
your way out.
move over i tell
her, you're
blocking my
light.