Three Poems About Poets…

Language

Think of Auden,
Calmly weeping.
In his Autumn
Words did nothing.

Observation

Sod the paper. Sod the weather.
I saw rabbits wearing leather.
Sod the paper. Sod the weather.
I saw dead hands pressed together.

Biography

You try, Mr Menand,
You try, you try to understand
This individual.
What made him sexual.

And why, Mr Menand?
For as you try to understand
This wretched poet’s heart
You isolate his art.

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About bsixsmith

I am a writer of stories and poems - published by Every Day Fiction, The London Journal of Fiction, 365 Tomorrows and Det Poetiske Bureau - and a columnist for Quillette, Areo and Bombs & Dollars.
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