Their liberal empathy and resigned sarcasm is obnoxious. And I’d put thumbtacks in every single Capitalist’s cup of coffee, because then they’d be harmed, which means they couldn’t spread their stupid social media apps any longer.Ĭlark’s poem concludes: “the creek turns into a reservoir and explodes.” There’s lots to explode nowadays, like the Bartlet administration. The iron clock correlates to the Iron Curtain and Stalinist Russia and all the misery that his gulags and purges produced. Throughout Clark’s poems, tumult reigns: “an iron clock interrupts the grammar lessons” and there’s thumbtacks in somebody’s coffee. Eric and Dylan staged a sensational show, while those workshop poems are just weird. What the two boys in Columbine Colorado enacted has 1001 times more artistry than any workshop poem. This is how it starts: “Anyone interested in art is welcome to shoot up the place.” Massacres are the most marvelous variety of art. “Down at Granny’s Cave” is one of Clark’s 88 sonnets. The third poem is by a boy, Clark Coolidge. While caca is inferior to browniemix, it’s superior to human beings, and I like how Jenny is as ecstatic about what leaves her tushy as Walt Whitman is about people. Jenny unveils this preoccupation in the middle of her poem, where line after line starts with “I.”Īlso, by speaking so effusively (as girls do) about caca, Jenny heeds what Julia Kristeva does, which is that caca is everywhere, and you can try and flush it down the toilet and be silent about it, but, if you eat food, like browniemix, then it’ll return. They are invariably glaring in the mirror, reapplying their lipstick, and adjusting their hair bows. So Jenny is breaching proper girl behavior.īut Jenny’s poem does adhere to some girl traits. Do Jane Eyre, Catherine Earnshaw, or Agnes Grey ever speak about such things? No. It’s called “Comefarts.” Though Jenny is a girl (like Carina), Jenny’s poem tackles a topic that is inapplicable to girls, which is caca. (I also wish to point out how Carina has turned “browniemix” into one word.) In this light, browniemix and death correlate, as, unlike liberal agendas, they last forever. There can never be enough browniemix in my tummy. Only this soup doesn’t taste of Williamsburg vegetables or murdered animals. “this browniemix in me makes me want to die.”īrowniemix is yummy, much more so than actually brownies (although those aren’t un-yummy), since, with the added eggs and water, it resembles soup. But that line (which is an endstop) is sharp. Capital letters aren’t accepted, and it takes up one line. Carina is a girl, and her poem is really tiny and small, the way girls are. The first is “Punctuate Please!” by Carina Finn. These are three of my favorite poems presently…
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