BLANKED-OFF VERSE

мини

www пипли пити

Hm

one

To hell with poets' tears

and suicidal meditations in lyric form

and all the secret inventories of lovers' limbs disguised as verse about the pretty universe, clever little bleats The Chosen will understand (and roll their eyes)

while the vast unwashed take it surfacely

as mere rhymed garden-loving

when it's really a seed-catalogue

noted only for its cunning ambiguity,

saying nothing but we-tender-secret-ones

on and on

Onan on

into dead infinities of repetition. But mostly tears and meditations

repeating endlessly

we-tender-tragic-ones

as sterile and changeless as a metronome

wholly unaware that pain is not tragedy

that agony must be given meaning by the agonized.

page 20