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It’s time to fire up my blog
and add to the poetic smog.
Marching thus, to April’s drum
may cause my muse to pause, mid-strum
and harp on my poetic lack
of will toward permanent attack.
Didactic, though, I strive to be;
And write with pure sincerity.
I’ll do my best to rail, and preach
and by such arts, some poor soul reach
assuring them they are not mad
but yes, the world IS worse than bad.
I’m sorry that I lack the power
to versify upon a flower.
(Leave that for some other, later
blithe pathetic poetaster.)
Where’s my muse?
They must have maced her.
Disabused of Muses
Poetry, you dazzled my eye
teased me with unearthly visions;
got me too high.
Primed my soul to fly to heaven
then marooned me upon the earth
sixed for seven.
You called across celestial shores
glowing in empyrean colors
then shut your doors.
Lost in your amusing mazes
I followed fast your golden thread
through dark phases.
Muse-abused and undelivered
my heartstrings wavered, stalled, then stopped—
Poetry, you’ve cheated on me;
winked and flirted, then escorted
Spare me further cantos, curses,
keep your holy delirium,
unhinged verses . . .
On second thought, oh Lady cruel—
humiliate me. Lead me on.
(I’m still your fool.)
Dominatrix, queen of the word
for you I’ll suffer untold shame.