The Dirge of the Poet's Fetus
BLASÉ do I say! Have done!
Forward, and tear these roots that glue like night,
Through mamma, love of albumen, to the light,
To the rich gracious stamen of the bright
- Everyone has his turn, and now I am ripe
To irradiate from Limbos my inedited type!
On! Break the bar!
Saved from these steppes of mucus, swimming bold
Saturday, February 20, 2016