Friday, March 20, 2015


My heart hung all upon a silken dress
But I found the poet Yeats before me.
So I wandered, lonely as a cloud
Only to find I wasn't alone at all;
Damne if Wordsworth wasn't there as well
And, with all the impudence in the world,
Was also wandering lonely as a cloud!
And so it went the whole time
Byron was going no more a roving
Just when I meant to, and by the light
Of the very same moon I'd picked out!
To the library then, planning to take
All knowledge for my province
Only to have Francis Bacon -- Francis Bacon
Of all men!  --had popped in ahead of me
And taken all knowledge for his province.
Even in sleep there was no escape
When I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls
Alfred Bunn was in the bed already.

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