who would laugh if hired to?
oh, constable of costly canvas
and lamb of dust;
his art, Nature, with centaurs for show or sale,
once the world has seen
God’s forced politeness
we will all lie to mothers drooling
while fools in their faults, gag grinning.
that sort of book displays a crowd without head or feet.
this is winning somehow.

poets all know a little mutual mercy,
making monsters from
gentle handshakes.

Exordium, sometimes tends to end, nonsense in lofty down feather,
the Thames may shine shipwreck
but dwindles Lethe whose wit is  troublesome.
the greater portion are led astray by labour,
following bombast.
too low to fly, satisfaction;
who engraves the woods beneath waves!

I even hate me,
thanks for asking...