Poetry Envy. It ain't pretty.

Okay so this guy has won the Forward prize for poetry. Ten grand and all the brown rice you can eat, good on him.

But then I read a poem from the collection what won it for him.

here it is.

LIZARD BY ROBIN ROBERTSON

Volatile hybrid of dinosaur and toy, this
living remnant throbs on the hot stone:
a prehistoric offcut, six inches
of chlorophyll-green dusted with pollen;
a trick of nature - lithe, ectopic, cuneiform -
a stocking-filler, out of place everywhere
but in the sun. Frisking the wall,
its snatched run is a dotted line
of fits and starts, spasmodic, end-stopped.
It pulses once; slips into a rock with a gulp.

He used the word CUNEIFORM. Sheesh. I've been saving that word up for a poem for F***ing ages. And now he's gone and used it. I can't use it now. That would be like picking up a damp vinegary chip from somebody else's plate.