Within this factual system I hold this
Curse: I hail portent limits aloft.
Verse is a granitic, endemic loss,
Thief of a lying voice; a ghostly cough.
Include in the arsenal the fact of clay.
Disrupt, ban the thermal poet writing.
His cry is a projective fable, body
In titian bath with stale smog, with telling.
Feuds of critic leakage to dodge gaping
Gloom, I echo after iambic chaos.
Alter to combine optic sonnet meaning.
Utilize proprioceptive surplus.
What of man’s basic genius goal?
Fault ritual usage, his fusion of soul.
First syllable, first column fulfills the Petrarchan;
Second, in the middle, is Shakespearean; and third Spenserian.