Writing bad poetry.

Is it the words that have failed me,
Or the mouth?
Is it the vowels, or the tongue
that lifts them, the lips that give them shape?
The syllables just-so strung,
or the uvula impassively dangling--
that pathetic flap that trembles
in each flight of poorly expressed air?

It is not the failure of either,
not word nor mouth, but mind;
how can a carpenter put to fault
the hammer for a forceless strike,
the concrete for its uneven cant?
A building is only as good
as it's made to be. Blaming words
for bad poetry is as good as blaming
the paper it's printed on.