Thursday, February 25, 2021


Irrelevant descriptions of nature,
Moral-scientific discursiveness,
Psychological curiosity,

Reminiscences of political
Eloquence in poetical diction,
We did not, never will, get rid of them,

Any more than we’ll get rid of rhythm,
Simplistic sentiments, vulgarity,
Or silliness. We’ll just pronounce them

Dead, periodically, as the great Yeats
Did, and attempt again to bury them.
We’ll announce, this is now and that was then,

Explain to ourselves what new poetry
Should attempt, should be like, should be, and then
Run when the ground shifts under us again.

Damned humans. They never stop being us.
We never stop being them. We bore them?
At least we don’t write like Victorians.

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