If I seem to write ironically,
(heretofore, hypoglyconically,)
It’s because in saying “what the hell,”
I’ve condemned myself to doggerel.
Trochee, trochee, trochee, dactyl , shit.
Useful as a pterodactyl tit.
I don’t know but I’ve been made to think
This is what transpires when poets drink.
Oy gevalt, oy vey, oy vey izmir,
Lord God, save me from Eratosphere.
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