Exceptional A reader's lament My Impotent Screed by Clockwise

There's no stiff upper lip in poetry, nor is there anything 'nice.' There are no 'white' chocolates, 'American' cheeses, or anything else imprecise. The old English poets are gone now. Let's bid all their dumb words 'adieu.' Thy 'tises' and 'thees,' doth offend and displease, so never write 'thou' if it's you. And never craft poems about writing. It makes for a god-awful read. Take this, for example, the bad rhymes are ample, so spare me thine impotent screed. Recognized

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