Oh, Where Is Your Inflammatory Writ?
Your Text That Would Incite A Light; 'be Lit'

Our Music Deserving
Devotion Unswerving
Cried; 'do I Deserve Her?'
With Unflagging Fervor
Well, No We Do Not, If We Cannot Get Over It

But What's It Mean When Suddenly We're Spent? - Tell Me True
Ambition Came And Reared Its Head And Went - Far From You

Even Mollusks Have Weddings
Though Solemn And Leaden
But You Dirge For The Dead
And Take No Jam On Your Bread
Just A Supper Of Salt And A Waltz Through Your Empty Bed

And All At Once
It Came To Me
And I Wrote In Hunch 'til Four-thirty
But That Vestal Light
It Burns Out With The Night

In Spite Of All The Time That We Spend On It
Om One Bedraggled Ghost Of A Sonnet
While Outside The Wild Boars Root
Without Bending A Bough Underfoot
Oh, It Breaks My Heart - I Don't Know How They Do It

So Don't Ask Me!

And As For My Inflammatory Writ?
Well I Wrote It And I Was Not Inflamed One Bit

Advice From The Master
Derailed That Disaster
Said; 'hand That Pen Over To Me, Poetaster!'
While Across The Great Plains
Keening Lovely & Awful
Ululate The Last Great American Novels
An Unlawful Lot Left, To Stutter And Freeze Floodlit
But At Least They Didn't Run, To Their Undying Credit