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The poem turns self-mockery into a blunt little creed, linking poetic struggle with foolishness and a stark brush with God.

The repetition of Poetry is Hard makes the statement feel both comic and exhausted, as if the speaker is trapped inside the fact of making poems. Calling oneself a fool without circus strips away performance and glamour, leaving only exposed absurdity. Definately God lands as a jagged conclusion, suggesting that difficulty itself becomes a kind of rough spiritual proof.

A four-line creed bookended by its own title, reducing the poet to 'the fool / Without circus' who lands on 'Definately God' as the only thing left standing.

The repeated 'Poetry is Hard' top and bottom turns the whole page into a clenched bracket, the difficulty stated, demonstrated by the meager yield, then restated. 'To be the fool / Without circus' is the sharpest move: a jester stripped of the tent and crowd that would justify the foolishness, left performing for no one. Against that exposure the speaker sets 'Definately God', the misspelling intact and unbothered, as if certainty about God is the one cheap, unearned thing in a craft that hands him almost nothing else. It is less a profession of faith than a tired shrug at where the foolishness finally points.