Small Meteorite
(not a review)
Gender-averse academic
decides
to forge a name writing
fiction.
That much is
non-fiction.
Ivory towers mean nil
to elephants
but can attract stray
lingo-terrorists.
Words can kill, murder
precious time.
Settle in a tower long
enough and you
live without what lives
without,
while conspiring with
air-con.
Everything ‘it’
overwrites is engineered
for like inmates, who
applaud on cue,
are acknowledged at
arse end of book.
A homogeneous circle,
if researched.
The vehicle – It’s
prose – is driven
with both hands clamped
onto the wheel.
Feigned skid/slide
would have us see
driver as wild literary
nutcase meteor.
Words ogle, require
google. Endless
sentences with complexes
wander
to wonderland. Odd
place names drop
to sound of cymbals,
references
obfuscate like
opinionated orphans.
Plot and characters
splatter, sour tart
in reader’s face. Taste
that, consider
cost of ingredients
that can’t be salvaged,
wonder what-the-hell.
Itster splashed
but, despite
personufactured in-tower
reviews, this reader
was not digging
anything except
indignation.
The waiting multitude,
hungry as ever,
will still need a
nutritious literary feed.
Allan Lake is a poet
originally from Allover, Canada who now lives in Allover, Australia. Some
Coincidence! His latest chapbook of poems, 'My Photos of Sicily', was published
by Gininnderra Press, 2020. It contains no photos, only poems.
No comments:
Post a Comment