Another list

Ha ha ha       and HA!
That's my response. 

Indignation 
and a sarcastic laugh! 

Come! Lets write a poem 
the New Yorker might run. 

Something indistinct. 
A string of 
non sequitors 
and blurry
            contrivances
stilted 
                and      
        
          exhausting 

and opaque.

Just 
another 
list 
of 
words--
musket                 balls
carbolic       soap
and a     good 
old               Wych 
elm. 

Jeez. 

No narrative EVER kicks in. 

And another thing:
Blah blah blah. 

Really, blank stares.
That's is what these poems do
arouse in me.  

Am I to blame? 

n o. N   O.

I'm just the 
reflecting pool. 
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