Sunday, September 25, 2011


Poetry, like God, isn’t dead. It’s kitsch.
Once uncondemnable Protestants could mulct
The joy from Grace, the keening wail In hymns
became TV. Like Stripping for Christ
Or punishing the poor for Life. It’s all shyst-
Erring – I mean eloquence and exactness -- and grim.
Poetry is just muscled cant, oiled and bulked
Up, vain, and closest to a psychic itch.

16 May 2011
A prie-dieu is a little private pew/kneeler contraption. Stage business for religious humbug

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