POEMS
EVERYBODY 'S OMNIBUS REVIEW
&
PARIS LETTER
I propose to put forward the notion that
were it not for those sprinkled
&
protrusive
commas vintaged
&
appointed by
that pair of exiled
&
classy voices
the task of following one's congeners' lusher
diffidences would less closely approximate
balancing a bowl of grtens across
a lawn mined with croquet arches (the very
figure of our more general condition!)
so that, excusably, perhaps, we may
neglect to send up a bit of the green to
the parcel of birdlings currently weathering
fine if less than fabulous notice.
Meanwhile in France ( a real country with imaginary
gangsters) it occurs similarly to Matthew Namedropper
(guard of our bridges at the breathless hub!)
that the place is being held together with
a piece of pink string by eight bad Rumanians.
So mark down a new
frisson
for our Matthew
back at the old stand after a lecture stint in
Salzburg, where he was mistaken for Robert Taylor
Duke Ellington and a junketeering gumshoe
(who he? who he? cry the great audiences).
Nevertheless! if someone from Vienna or Prague
suddenly starts speaking the unspeakable, or
a bloody axiologist stomps out of the Black Forest
there it
is
monsieur practically the real article
one glass and man you're free
if only to name your own poison.
