Living on Poetry

Pharyngula: I think I shall never click...

The lyrical alchemist knows
That transmuting his words to cash flows
Is a pie in the sky.
Most poets don't die,
But pragmatically lapse into pros in another discipline that, although pedestrian, will keep bread on the table.

Kryonic Profit

Pharyngula: Kryon of Magnetic Service has all the answers

How sweet to play the prophet of the age!
To preach the music sung by DNA
And lift our flat depictions off the page
To planes unknown by scientists today.
In four-dimensional paradigms we're bound
To muddle time, magnetics, gravity
And matter placement. Suddenly profound
New science thrives in dodecality.
And sweeter still this grand loquacious dance
Of loaded words, that hint at hidden lore,
At harmony, at healing, at romance,
Attracts the wishers' wallets by the score.
Rely on this in future's land uncharted:
There're always fools and money to be parted.