Voices - 2021

Ode to Squalor’d Lovers A Seymourian Sestina; Recitative, for J.D. Salinger i.

Jerome David, they taught me, was a poet; semantically, he ain’t, but ink’d lines lie read between snickering sophomoric words within pages:“Fuck” Hold-meta-phon-ory!)

Glassy-eyes gloss past; blank’d verse, to me, Beautifully pen’d, in Crayola colour: skin-soul. ii.

Beautiful thing about that kinda soul, Jerome David’s, I mean, to wit, a poet’s; Glass tongued irony, tastes true too, me.

Semantics, a syntactic game of lies within an endless, infinite, metaphor Read, us, lovers, his-story behind the words. iii.

Read all the pockmark’d iambs of words, beautiful rhythm, breathing, soulfully, Within lines a cacophonous: metaphor.

Jerome David and me, co-breathing poetically, Semantically snort the same lying lines of lies.

Glass’ sunlit-shards mirror his air from me. iv.

Within a time, co-ed-ucation finds metaphors .

Reading the world, studious, formalist, words; Glass’s now aesthetic; used to see ironic me Beauty, I scoff. I, writer, (lonely) Buddy’s soul.

Jerome David,xaa wrote of my mis’form’d eye; poet’s semantics, plaiting around an exquisite lies. v.

Semantics dictated, I wept, tears metaphorically within the space-time where they hear me.

“Beautiful voice of a gen-a-cliche-phucking-poet’s;Glass. Fragments, revealing mere human; words” Reading him esoteric; he, writer, was too, a lonely soul.

Jerome David, in restful peace, may you eternally lie.

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