Into the party, with engraved invitations, I am bored when
I realize the champagne in the decrepit bowl is going to get
filled up a lot. Well then, on the greens in front of the
Mansion are walking Tom Clark and Ted Berrigan, what chums!
Do you think I could possibly fall in step, as they turn same
to far flung university on horizon, gleaming. You bet your
life not. The trouble, says Ted, with you Joanne, is that
you're not intelligent enough.
Pants! Absolute drivel, what rot! ! Someone's taking the mickey and flashing the v's to the reader.
I only hope that the author has enough dignity to understand what it means to them. I wish that I could understand what this was talking about, but the random order and alliance of words dont make a complete description good enough for me to want to search for more meaning. This is not poetry, but a sad form of prose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sorry, but is this poetry? ? ?