Tonight
I'm so unsonorous and bereft even
Of one
poetic thought or poem-worthy image
I
have no quirkily melodic phrase in my ear
It
just so happens that I’m tired of exuberantly
Fallen
arches and the dark foundations
Of
evening’s rhetorical hair entire histories
Tangled
in that architecture O it just provokes
Uncontrolled
ennui in me the stupefied clouds
The
metaphysical meanwhile waiting always
In
the fatuous face of the moon ha! that tired
Lyrical conceit how the bloated moon the moon
The
moon illuminates these fragrant doubts
More mawkish even than my rancid silence
O rococo rapture to taste your champagne hair!
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