Upon Waking with an Editorial Hangover
think that meter's had its bloody turn,
and that it should be buried in
They feel that the experiments of Shelley
do nothing to
assault the nerves to jelly.
They'd gladly give up struggling through Lord
prefer by far the simple prose of Styron.
Milton stops their blood
and turns it cold,
while Wordsworth on his mountaintops seems old.
when it's roughened as in Ransom,
it is the New York Times that sets
While there are those who read the avant-garde,
its formlessness is hard
for nearly everyone to understand;
wolves they travel in a band
and howl with vital passion at the
finding in chaos beauty and a tune.
While I am neither for it or
and call on language only as I've sensed it.
It seems I take
my language as I find it;
mine is the more progressive form of blinded.
am reborn -- unmetered -- lacking form;
I'll find my inspiration in a storm.
poem by Ben Mazer
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