No poetry after he
fails to find a way to say
the essence of you,
finally, the thing
ness the actual thing
that might actually be somehow
reduced call it an
essence, a concentrate, concentrate!
A reduction, an absurd
reduction the essence of you
in fact some fat some
phosphorus mostly carbon
the spirit of you proof
of what exactly?
Electric blinds.
Perhaps so, if used
irreverently.
A womb of a room, false
ceiling, panelling
in the richest of
wooden veneers reproduced
here in more robust,
synthetic form and the
model couple on the
hotel television screen fixed
staring into an
imaginary future of lost looks
and marital acrimony
(suited polo shirts not guaranteeing
happiness forever).
The living creatures
lie, honest at last, naked
reduced to some
solution, finally. No more
poetry.
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