My rhymes are gone, at least quite rare;
my lines are stop–
ped just anywhere.
The meter is, no doubt, unconscionably
weak, definitely poor,
and all the rest is quite obscure
because of fragments, strange connections,
banalities, confused reflections.
But contradiction is my forte —
there is no truth I can’t distort:
“Time passes but is stationary”
(as often proved by John Ashbery).
I’m also good at metaphor:
the more absurd the higher my score,
as when I strike my brow and say,
“The moon is like a Chevrolet.”
Now, if confused, at least you’ll see
my work discusses only ME,
and if you think my work’s not kosher,
please note it lacks all sense of