I never
Wrote
Another
Word,
No
More
Absurd
Poetry
Relating
What
I see,
Not
Another
Line
Polished
To
A
Shine,
What
Matter
Would
It
Be
Since
Few
Will
See
Or
Care
If
Abruptly,
I’m
Not
There,
Making
My
Transactions
With
Dame
Art,
Of
Less
Consequence
Than
A
Perfumed
Fart?