i find modern poetry so clingy,
so pronoun involved,
so pronoun cloaked
to create a bad-liar narrator,
i feel no sense of detachment
that's necessary for akin to
a painter a way of release:
to paint for nothing,
but in posthumous circumstance
sell for £100 million or be a
national gallery exhibit by
trafalgar sq. as a loan...
i could bemoan like a poet jealous
of liszt, as they say, with all the pretty ladies,
but i could also be like that solemn
crook of middle-aged women's libido
know by the name LI BE RA CE.
this modern poetry is almost like
a nightmare, clingy because written
by youth in youth, not youth encapsulated
by an ageing body, it's clingy, gooey suckling
its sick self to escape parasitic contamination;
its only depth is the number of bothersome flies
it attracts.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 6:35 AM UTC
i find modern poetry so clingy,
so pronoun involved,
so pronoun cloaked
to create a bad-liar narrator,
i feel no sense of detachment
that's necessary for akin to
a painter a way of release:
to paint for nothing,
but in posthumous circumstance
sell for £100 million or be a
national gallery exhibit by
trafalgar sq. as a loan...
i could bemoan like a poet jealous
of liszt, as they say, with all the pretty ladies,
but i could also be like that solemn
crook of middle-aged women's libido
know by the name LI BE RA CE.
this modern poetry is almost like
a nightmare, clingy because written
by youth in youth, not youth encapsulated
by an ageing body, it's clingy, gooey suckling
its sick self to escape parasitic contamination;
its only depth is the number of bothersome flies
it attracts.