I
will not rhyme anymore
Nor work in rhythms of laughter or tears
Leers are all that these traits beget
Yet what significance could there possibly be
To being unable or -willing to rhyme my "sanity"
If all else of "flowers" and "seagulls" rhymes not
Not
to say that I'm distraught
Taught lessons too hard for learning
Yearning for some acknowledgment
Sent instead cards of thanks but no thanks
Pranks! as if to say it's not you, oh no,
Oh
no, it's me, us, our "current needs," the fault is ours
Hours I think sometimes I must be spending
Sending my thoughts to consort with other thoughts in a file
While I go on great quests like in books that I've read
Bled dry but finding some crucial truth that I lack
Back in the world that should now yield its stores I discover again
And again that the better I get the worse-off I am
And so for my name, and my wife, and my pen I turn whore
And declare that I never will rhyme...
From this day forth |
