Irradiated Irises
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
His eyes were deep clairvoyant blue, and blue
Of lighter kind, both present in his face
At once for Paul to fall in love with. True
To nothing but himself, though, he lacked grace
Of any decency towards others, Paul
Especially. He cared about his lines,
Proclaiming they were great, greater than all
Of poems, other than his. His were mines
Of radiation, deadly gems to kill
Off other poetry that wasn’t harsh
And vague as his. He lusted for the thrill
Of damning other lines. A muddy marsh
Was what the other poets were. And Paul’s?
Pretty stuff. (Arthur had him by his balls.)