sordid sonnet 22

sloshing dumbness rings
a kind of dumbbell   ask not for whom
this toll is paid    it ain’t paid (it doesn’t loom)
for you;   a poet sings
but actually he’s (ring) tone deaf & clings
to the zoom
like a conceit in a locked room-
type mystery;
                            he’s just a loon

more adversarial than sublimated;
here   have some romanticoid gloom,
3rd grade sifts assassinated:
all references are autopostdated—
(word jumbles now break things . . .)
please delete “corporate moon”

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