betroth yourselves
to old houses of Charlottenburg
let yourselves be mollycoddled
by the petrified rain king
buy yourselves a shiny armour
of a former seraphim
call yourselves bourgeois,
dear ambassadors of art
prosy playwriters
live futile lives
full of futile effort
we are the revenants of heedlessness
the masses of plastic limpidness
and cubists that paint no more
like vortex and vertigo
we're abstract in a colour gamut
but I only like to whisper
among the lilies of rusty minefields
replacing the city with simplicity
Categories:
cubists, dream, imagery, surreal,
Form: Free verse
RUBIK CUBISTS AND OTHER MANIACS
Those cube zombies wreck my head.
Damn that Hungarian genius
And his puzzle so ingenious;
I can never get a single side all red.
And the sudoka zealots so persist:
They try 45 then change to seven -
If it succeeds: they’re in heaven.
Their numbers form some magic list.
I see them on the train, and snort:
How can they become so engrossed?
As if it mattered in the world the most.
. . . . To my crossword I resort.
Categories:
cubists, funny
Form: Enclosed Rhyme