You may hail
my free verse
with the plaudits
of high-brow genteel
or
rail freely at them
with philistine pincers
that pinch like new short shoes
and after some walk-cuddle
leave only a few blisters!
My verse libre
on your versos
may suffer eternal neglect
or merely end in
stooping, haggard dots;
lowered and cowered awfully
in this royal, gorgeous cosmos.
No, no need of
any meteor ray shower
any paper pansy flower
for this fully awakened bard,
a sprite possessed nerd;
for this semi-statue,
neither a demi-devil nor a demi-god:
you better curse and rail and rant
than quitting a single verse of
my poems altogether.
As the maker
is not the master here;
let me throw my offspring
on your fatherly mercy
and leave them to your motherly care.
Peace, lo, peace;
how nice the parleyed nemesis!
