The poet Mariette.




I want Lord Styrofoam who saved the Geeks,
or Dylan who never sang a song,
drunk 13 double whiskies,
only to be killed by a quack,
who missed his pneumonia
and then chucked his grieving wife in a mental prison.

Maybe Mr. T. Eliot, reading him,
I want to piss up a wall,
this miss and thrall,
poor Auden who wrote about Birmingham,
still Fair Player might get through,
if she sing,
like how do you do?

For King Solomon is a loss leader,
a free bag of nails with every poem,
but no will go down to the loony bin,
the line is to thin.

Most genius is chucked in a skip,
revolutionary poetry is very hip.

Waving as the world drowns,
you have to be a bit of a clown;
love is an innocence taught,
great battles will be fought.

 

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