Thursday, April 3, 2008

Weekly Sonnet 48

TS, Eliot

O, take my art and fill me with cruelty!
Never be a command, always in threats.
Winters says, “Everybody pays taxes!”
At the violet hour, the human engine
Returns to sate its own selfish duty.
Dittoed. I’ve had ’em. Damn. Yada. Waxes
Lethargic che gli affina and whets
Your passions.—I have none. Know some evil

Mothers tell you everything is just dirt.
Oily, oily, oily, LORD, is my gin.
Rinse the ice, never shake: bruises. We fill
Our days with halo trouble. With a shirt
Stiff, do seppuku on adding machine,
Eat me in Saint Louis. Padding no sheen.

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