And did they hear, those on-looking distant
Rules, hear did they what was said to the world?
That story must be told by one “me,” can’t
Have a sonnet without that one letter mold—
First person voice, and make it beautiful,
Can’t have a sonnet that doesn’t love,
That doesn’t speak from a mouth of its own
That doesn’t rhyme, that does not resolve
Can’t call it a sonnet if it won’t grow old,
Not Shakespeare but Brooks, not Byron but Stein
And here— the words that did not do what they were told
And here— rules fall, away in line in line
But author? Who author, who inspire? Who make?
Un-sonnet, un-sung it, not claimed. Not take.
To strum this guitar is for naught. Strumming the strum of the guitar of the guitar. The the guitar is for naught. For naught is the strum. Strumming strum strummy in the strum of the of the guitar.
Would she be enticed? She would be strumming. Would she be be strumming the strum of the guitar? She would not be the the strum. I strum the D and the A strums the B and it all comes to the G string. Would I not if I did strum the G if I strummed it so?
Maybe maybe maybe no.
Shall I have a glass of jack and coke? If I should not should I strum the G of the jack of the jack and the coke? Should she be she be not? Do I dare to entice? If I should dare to not should should I find the jack?
I should call should I call if I do if I don’t? What have I to do but strum and strum and drink and drink and think of the flat note? I will call. Will it pickup?
The taste of Jack is acquired it is. It is acquired and acquired and not for her. She’s a rosé and what can it be that a cheap whisky can amount to a fine wine? It cannot and I cannot. I cannot and will I call will I again?
Will I strum strum the gun of the sun? Will I find the gun will it find the sun and will it it will not find her?
How about a game of poker? I play a mean game a game I play. Please please do play with me. If you would please then please oblige. If not then please do. If do it would make all of it worth it.
2 of a kind.
It is midnight I should be off. Off I shall just strum and never bother. Never shall I bother and never shall I be bothered.
I wasn't on drugs when I wrote this, but I sure felt like I was.
I made this poem in the style of Gertrude Stein. It was for an extra credit assignment in my Humanities class.
A gesture can be misinterpreted.
A sigh can be misread.
A promise can be intimated,
With nothing further meant.
A smile can be just a smile,
With nothing more to say,
But a kiss is a kiss is a kiss is a kiss,
And a kiss shows clear the way.
— The End —