Bad [Poetry] From My Writing Past #13: Don’t Tell Me (7/2/1991)

Bad [Poetry] From My Writing Past #13: Don’t Tell Me (7/2/1991)

[…with today’s commentary in brackets.]

Don’t tell me the stars
Are just balls of fire
Which may have died out
Long ago.

[They’re not just balls of fire. They’re great balls of fire!]

Don’t tell me the moon
Isn’t made of green cheese
Although what you say
May be so.

[It looks more white than green, wouldn’t you say?]

Don’t tell me the sounds
That I hear at night
Are not made by small
Faerie folks.

[Actually, that would be the neighbors, dear.]

Don’t tell me the tales
That I like to hear
Are nothing but life’s
Great big jokes.

[Hey, did you hear the one about the priest and the rabi?]

Don’t tell me the facts
When I want the dreams;
Reality is
Very dull.

[Tell that to the networks!]

My fantasy land,
If I may confess,
Is pleasant, though not
“Liveable.”

[Yeah, but when you’ve had a lobotomy, pretty much anything is “liveable.”]

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