Bulbophillum Nocturnum

How they oppress the prisons of the hills

They are so easy to overrate

We have opened up the satanic mills

In all honesty, I have come to hate

William Wordsworth’s f....ing daffodils

There is no poetry in my poetry

And there is nothing romantic. My skills

Are in describing the ordinary

In our corrupted universe

They are deluded who turn to the light

Merely in their predictable verse

Let us praise flowers that bloom at night

And celebrate strangeness not beauty

There is no poetry in my poetry