Once I looked to the Bard for words profound;
ageless, his wisdom ran unabated.
Yet Hamlet is now ideologically unsound,
“the slings and arrows” historically Iocated.
I wept for the creature of Frankenstein,
spurned by his master, forced to roam the Earth.
But I’d been subjectively positioned in a paradigm
by Mary’s anxiety about childbirth.
I read Balzac, Hardy and Henry James
describing “worlds” which seemed quite sensible.
Now Eagleton’s exposed their bourgeois games
I find them morally reprehensible.
I dreamt of being Robinson Crusoe
or proud, fierce Hawkeye in his buckskins dressed,
but Fenimore and Defoe have to go,
they’re culturally encoded and empirically obsessed.
Inspired by Guinness, did James Joyce sit down
to see what magic flowed when he was ******?
The stream of Ulysses floats Bloom-about-town
dreamthinkingnever : “I’mamodernist”.

I’d gladly give Woolf a Room of Her Own
and be one of the boys with Hemingway,
but sensitive guys leave their bulls alone
say de Beauvoir and Luce Irigaray.
No more fun with Wordsworth being daffodilly,
no simple pleasure reading Mickey Mouse;
Steamboat Willie can’t help but look silly
dissected by Foucault and Levi-Strauss.
The Bible shows intertextuality
says the two Jacques, Lacan and Derrida.
Judas, a construct of bisexuality?
The **** fixations of Herod are?

It’s got so bad I deconstruct a holiday brochure.
I can’t even **** without Roland Barthes and Ferdinand de Saussure.

I think I'm coming down
with the spring sillies
My dafty thoughts are feverish,
budding, blossoming,
Impulsive, daffodilly

My thigh muscles are stronger
And start to twitch,
As if they now prepare
To bound and leap in meadows
Like the mad march hare.

A cheeky imp is glinting
In my left eyeball
Calling me to frolic
With the April fool

There's happy hope in spring growth
Nature's clever ploy
And I'll not let any April showers
Dampen down my joy!

Spring sillies
I think I'm coming down
with the spring sillies
My dafty thoughts are budding,
blossoming,
I'll call them daffodilly

My thighs muscles are stronger
As if they now  prepare
To bound and leap in meadows
Like the mad march hare.

A cheeky imp is glinting
In my left eyeball
Calling me to frolic
With the April fool

There's happy hope in spring growth
Nature's clever ploy
And I'll not let any April showers
Dampen down my joy!

and i could’ve been anything
next fall, won't be here
bleed red, four doors in the hall
but i met four ghosts in the room
and i could’ve been there
dead girl, my soul is amiss
flushed skin, x type of a kiss
rather hate you
than face the abyss
i place blame for this ****
rather be dead, dull blades on my wrist
you're ******* with my head
get dead, that’s the gist
you can see it on me, i'm ******
lost in the mist, mouth full of ****
pick a daffodilly, so pretty at this
at the rope, then he jumped
said all he needed was a brick?