the stranger wrote:Fetid feelings at dawn;
Roused by coughing cars
and wretched birds
lost in song.
With sweaty palms
I stand my hair on end –
study a cracked ceiling:
Plot small journeys
through intricate furrows
of Victorian architect,
follow it down Edwardian
smudges, to Lizzies crap
Lost in times, I weaken.
Well, I'm going to have to trash this 'poem'.
Meaning, I want you to realize how embarrasing it is,
throw it in the trash, (but don't crumple it for God's sake),
disown any copyright you have, and then give me a shout,
so I can steal, I mean, remove it for you.
I hope you haven't signed it in indelible ink. Oh, wait, never mind
I can just copy it over anyways.
This might be the best thing I've read in a week. Very fresh,
very moving-along, full of clever tropes, sweet story well
told, compelling rhythm, I couldn't ask for more.