The Carpenter poet

All the number games
Make a man of letters feel far away,
A better builder of house roofs than temples for the mind to dwell,
Hip valley crippled, sloping with the common
Yet never touching the ridge
Never reaching the plate.
Functioning in a junction
Less than common
But more than a jack.
Knowing what is behind the wall,
Irrelevance.
Calculating the hard stone and subtracting displacement,
Placing the cold chisel to craft a passage way,
Leading ever farther astray
From literary competence,
Speaking in grunts and moans
Diligently delving into a dimension,
Where my opinion doesn't matter.