in drafty garrets up winding stair
tousled poems show pubic hair
wilting quivering under the glare
of the earnest poetry buff
doused in blood ennui sigh
absent of confessional sign
sly of pen no unread prize
drown'd hand waving stuff
twelve point tippy tapping type
the blank revenge hoves into sight
one eyed pirate takes the fight
to Emily Dickinson's ghost
sparse dense and bold stanzas run
strangled words throttled of fun
misquote Keats odes for a pun
on angelic hosts
some lines three some lines run as far as ten
up pops that clever girl again
always hanging round John Donne
in studied discord
alas at last the poem finished
all hope expressed lies diminished
to crabbed critics joyless critiqued
who only see the words
--------------------------------------------------------------
No comments:
Post a Comment