Fooled In The Valleys

I woke up but the sun was rising from the west,
surely not, the ten second alarm burst on the phone,
a message, we have a phenonenon, you know what's best,
go to underground stations, it's within your interests.

The poets scattered, holding their ingratiating comments,
we will write to record the events of history permanently,
perhaps they might get things right, making common sense,
they can apologise for all misnomers in some increments.

Knowledge of literature seemed premature, just blatant,
we forgive them, ironic it's boring we should have to do so,
but we'll let them, like me - go on a nationlistic feeble rant,
look in your dictionary, descibe to me the meaning of 'cant.'

I see the smoke rising, it must be from your acidic pen,
perhaps when you go away next time, you won't return again.