I’ve read you, T.S. Eliot,
and one thing I don’t get
is why between such lovely lines
you’re such a pompous twit
while sharing arcane references
lost on non-scholar types
you wail and moan the loss of myth
with poncey, highbrow tripe
it makes me wonder about schools
that teach us to ensnare
the young and willing eager mind
and leave it gasping there
its arms around a load of Greek
its tongue on Latin tripped
and by the time the poems done
the joy for life is whipped
but then a line of simple truth
comes gleaming through the mire
and makes the confused, convoluted
spirit catch on fire
for these small fragments, tiny gems
I bother with your stuff
and leave the rest: the posturing,
and clever dreck and fluff.
03 FEB 2004
