Thursday, October 27, 2016

WHY THERE IS NOT A POEM



The golem who’s been serving as my muse
Stays up all night reading and making
Enormous heaps of cornmeal pancakes.
Despite the pancakes, I have been resisting
Her latest idea which is to write about
Sainte-Beuve’s mistress –  the one
Who wanted him to believe she was Spanish
And so slept every night with a dagger.

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