Our city is filled with poets
Never have there been so many poets
Consequently everyone seems happy
Everyone you meet is now a poet

Consequently no man mans a tram
Nor fusses mending buses
Collecting waste nor wasting time collecting
Taxes baking bread nor fixing
Broken table-legs nor broken legs nor laddered leggings

Break up at once all prose to Oxo cubes!
Insert an anecdote you may recall
Ensure a mythological
Reference or learned philosophic
Petticoat-tail is showing

For smarty-pants to point it out to friends

Add something sanely mad or madly sane –
Here you have a sliding scale –
Something on the joy and pain of love
To prove you are a Human
Being not a cog
In a monster poem-machine
Certainly not a cog
In a massive manic meat-eating poem-machine
That runs and runs and runs
That cannot cease from running


I bought a sheet of humans
Each one looked the same
With perforated edges
But some had holes not there
For tearing each from others
To send them who knows where

This made them quite collectible
They were in fact unique

I bought another hopeful sheet of humans



Bernard Saint
Illustration: Claire Palmer





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