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Thus Ominous and Elliptical Be the Tone of This

Species sundry sentential 
Line the lost lowered loft
Whose weary wayward-ceiled 
Roof raises itself over the lot:
The diverse specimen bottles of pharmaceutic potations,
Mortared and mixed as by the Hawthornean sawbones 
And apothecary, yclept, poetically rendered: "The Quack Haunted." 
(Aye,) Haunted and hunted he was, by that vile old crone, 
Whose life he did not decrease one iota nor span, 
With the ingested application of one of his odious elixirs, 
By the harridan so quaffed. 
Yet, the obstreperous host of the soldierly soldiery of dozens of nations, 
Yclept herein by the appellation, "Plagiarism," they fairly encroach upon 
The tableau naught but ominously.
And thus ominous be also the tone of this, 
Which 'tis my most perfervid and prayerful hope that 
'Tis utterly unclassifiable, unidentified and unidentifiable.
I do not care for the onerousness of being pinned down, 
For living up to the hoary and draconian standards of the vast 
Collect of poetry-of poetries. 
This I will not brook.
(But before I end this ebullient and elliptical encomium, 
I must turn once again to that species of alliterativeness that 
Provided the nutriment for it and me: the "grist for my mill,"
As the archaic idiom has it: )
Therefore, these things
Have henceforth
Come casually 
To their 
End.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017




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