Retarded adolescence

   the moon-faced tyke who lives two houses down . . .

           in point of fact, there’s not a kid in town

has not known pain – betrayal galore –

     by the time he’s barely more than four – or five 

              – every sentient being alive – 

      why yesterday, the girl next door…

naw, forget it

          you’ve already read it 

                            as recently as last night 

          [it oozes all over that site] 

     bald banality to strip – outstrip – the gears


              on the beet-stained bandage of your ears


                  I mean really;

                       peans for this pap?

       what a holy load of lachrymose crap !

                    [common vanity and self-indulgence 

                     the ordinary ego’s ersatz effulgence]


                                                           who hasn’t hurt 

                                                      been hurt

                                                 wonderered why 

                                           tried not to cry 

                                   when xy died 

                            kept it all inside 

         I mean – fuck me:

                     has this anything to do with poetry? 

                                                I really don’t think so


Ok. So I’m a grump.







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