on 8/3/02 9:51 am, Perpetua Pullman at [log in to unmask] wrote:
Is this one of those poems that uses a line each from a lot of other poems?
How could I be so mean as to think this? Because I heard someone say
recently that this sort of thing actually has a name. I'd call it poem
surfing myself. If I'm wrong a) you can shoot me (well not really) and b)
you can be a bloody good poet when you aren't being aggravating! (Both these
'cans' are different and the first one is not really honest. I couldn't
change it to 'may'.)
Sally E
> The Place
>
> slack night descends and flings her sequinned shawl
> around the yellow shoulders of the moon
> let us go dancing, raddled as we are,
> lolloping vixens out to make a kill
>
> I'll take the hour, and you may choose The Place
> where yards of leggy girls queue up to spin
> like scanty moths in polyester wings
> flaunting their artless guile in strobic snares
>
> let us devour their adolescent dreams
> to swell a progress start a scene or two
> we'll be unlikely puzzles matched to win
> a south sea bubble, time-share of desire
>
> let us kick off well-heeled conformity
> drink to the love that dare not speak its name
> unhook the satin basque of sanity
> and quench our thirst in duty free psychosis
>
>
>
> Perpetua Pullman
>
>
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