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Reminiscence Of A Wannabe Poet I Met On September 9th, 1976
Looking back, I am so sorry we had to be
acquainted; I wish that we had never met:
of my experience there, that is a major regret.
Your wild assertions lacked all credibility:
your pathetic grasp at veneers of authority
did not disguise your innate inanity.
Those stacks of lines that you called "poetry"
was then (and still is, now, most probably)
only a reeking pile of seething reaction
without verbal skill, artless, with no satisfaction
to offer; it lacks the least redeeming attraction.
You were the first of your kind I met in that past
time; but, as I have learned since, not the last
(too many, too often, and all too recently).
Starward
