Who will memorize postmodern poetry
essayed lines without rhyme or rhythm
chock-full of hanging metaphors
blended into stranger fantasies
problematical to understand
alienated from this reader's grasp
hallucinatory glimpses of something
extraneous to everyday mazes...
where are the dictated paths not taken
endless fields of golden daffodils
grieving lilacs beside the dooryard
narrow fellows in tall, wayward grasses
candles burning swiftly from both ends
love's labors lost in liquefied clothes
feathered things in wordless choruses
darkling plains and ravens everywhere...
why more and more rhapsodic verses
swapped for Jabberwockian leaps
distorted by uber-cubist visions
crammed with kaleidoscopic shards
of fractured contexts, oblique precedents
and densely elliptical idioms
all pounded, pressed, precipitated
into exquisite morass of tangled language.
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