*May Contain

This poem may contain

traces of irony,

a little Shelley,

no Keats, whatsoever,

and what beats a huge dollop of Byrony?

Or it may not.

It may be considered complete and utter rot –

by those in the know,

and connoisseurs of real poetry

might turn in their graves –

even if they are still alive and kicking,

leaving little or no room for sensible critiquing –

whatever that is.

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