09-15-2023, 10:24 AM
Ezra Pound, poetry, dry.
What is T. S. Eliot?
The Waste Land.
Oh Freud!
The moisture he was kneading. Needing.
The moisture was in Robert Lowell's head.
In Elizabeth Bishop's heart. Dry as she is.
The Poets are Gods, in America. Like the Gods were bullies in Ancient Greece.
Sod off, Ezra Pound.
Bukowski needs a hangover.
Dream Song 16:
John Berryman
Henry's pelt was put on sundry walls
where it did much resemble Henry and
them persons was delighted.
Especially his long & glowing tail
by all them was admired, and visitors.
They whistled: This is it!
Golden, whilst your frozen daiquiris
whir at midnight, gleams on you his fur
& silky & black.
Mission accomplished, pal.
My molten yellow & moonless bag,
drained, hangs at rest.
Collect in the cold depths barracuda. Ay,
in Sealdah Station some possessionless
children survive to die.
The Chinese communes hum. Two daiquiris
withdrew into a corner of the gorgeous room
and one told the other a lie.
An alert on the bottom of the site said that you, TB, are 69.
That makes you an Honorary Cancer in the Stars for the Year.
A Cancer like me and CRNLSM and Hespolian.
You shouldn't have paraphrased with the word funny.
What is T. S. Eliot?
The Waste Land.
Oh Freud!
The moisture he was kneading. Needing.
The moisture was in Robert Lowell's head.
In Elizabeth Bishop's heart. Dry as she is.
The Poets are Gods, in America. Like the Gods were bullies in Ancient Greece.
Sod off, Ezra Pound.
Bukowski needs a hangover.
Dream Song 16:
John Berryman
Henry's pelt was put on sundry walls
where it did much resemble Henry and
them persons was delighted.
Especially his long & glowing tail
by all them was admired, and visitors.
They whistled: This is it!
Golden, whilst your frozen daiquiris
whir at midnight, gleams on you his fur
& silky & black.
Mission accomplished, pal.
My molten yellow & moonless bag,
drained, hangs at rest.
Collect in the cold depths barracuda. Ay,
in Sealdah Station some possessionless
children survive to die.
The Chinese communes hum. Two daiquiris
withdrew into a corner of the gorgeous room
and one told the other a lie.
An alert on the bottom of the site said that you, TB, are 69.
That makes you an Honorary Cancer in the Stars for the Year.
A Cancer like me and CRNLSM and Hespolian.
You shouldn't have paraphrased with the word funny.