2/30

Against 'The Waste Land'

With due respect, sir, 

fuck the world and what

punctuates it. I'm concerned

with my own end. Moreso

the places on page fifteen

of the Evening

Times, the very real cities

runs by fiat and Kalashnikov

where summer and winter

aren't verbs, where a half-Windsor

only seems familiar tied 

in jute cord. Where survival

is an impressive bullet

on the C.V.

Boo to your flaccid gerunds,

your botanical inaccuracies,

your prime-time dramas

about hairline and cocksmanship,

the ridiculous idea that cruelty

has a season. Ezra must know

someone at BMW. Buy a sport coupe

and be done with it.