...just arrive at your own perverse conclusion sith that's what academia and its ilk forever do with artists' work.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXIII)


If I note that he shoveled in (t'avail)
His pj's, like the man whose showr from thence
Would cleanse all to effect, and thought fr'intents
For lo, the umpteenth year, of how (in pale
Excuse) this exercise can cull to scale
Erm, cardiac arrest, tae think from hence
In looking on that ****** landscape--whence?!
To die in shovling could be sweet...is't frail?
Or rather, I am, mebbe.  Dawn's breath pure
And crisp; to shovel heartning; lonely too,
Why did that eerie thought rise up as twere
Upon the heels of vague concern, to do
Was that a caper in morn's eye?!  And YOUR
Thin protest I'd not die soon...was it true?

26Nov18a