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This poem
(if one can call it that)
of insincerity,
of self-satisfaction,
of cowardice.
It represents
an abject terror
of emotional honesty.
A revulsion
towards any concept
of poetic truth.
It hides behind
its own deliberate
attempt at ironic detachment;
believing itself to have made
some point
worth making,
without any articulation
beyond its own presentation.
What lies behind this maneuver
one can only speculate.

And for this I praise it
for being more honest
(and accurate)
than most poems
I’ve read today
(I have not read many poems today).

4/5 stars
Cannot recommend reading to anyone I can think of.