How unpleasant to know Mr. Whitman,
the exemplar of all that is wrong!
Free-verse’s indelible it-man;
hear him sing to himself in a song.
His poems are quite egotistical –
his meter is shoddy and crude.
He’s America’s charlatan, mystical
purveyor of everything lewd.
His appearance is less than unsightly;
he’s galumphing about in the grass;
he’s eyeing the grocery boys nightly;
he’s a vacuum of substance and class.
He’s an incontrovertible nutter –
free verse’s insidious hitman.
He’s Formality-Dead-in-the-Gutter –
how unpleasant to know Mr. Whitman!
Last edited by Orwn Acra; 09-20-2009 at 04:24 PM.
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