Anything Unobjectionable Need Not Apply

I hate those poems where every line

Seems to rhyme without even trying

Inside and outside lines, wonderfully blind

to its own deception’s skillful seams. Flying

over lands where children rise like plants

to sun and sleds and some truncation of freedom

I hate the hands that work those flyover lands

river-cut, riddled with dirt, time’s unwritten recitation

of a fairytale. I also hate women with

galaxies belittled in their glasses, lips beneath

roses that make men, once bitten, mumble to their knees

Men too – especially messes, their wind-nipped hair bequeathed

to the forgotten pencil on their ear, eyes glittering

like tinsel, the soft apologetic men who write

with their left hand

wear the seasons

who leave

those pretty women

crumpled as tinfoil, new-baked cookies lifted off

into the cloud of some dumb word

that’s muffled in my memory – please don’t

remind me, please, kindly do snuff

the light they never speak aloud,

I hate it just as perfectly

As poems that land soundlessly,

that don’t even need to try.


Image By Jules Tavernier –, Public Domain,


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