New Spam Poetry

This spam email came in over the holidays. So good!

El Between (the relation of Coop)

Tall chimneys,
their pennons of black smoke,
their uglinesses of brick-work,
and their heaps of refuse matter
from the furnace,
seems to be the only kind of stuff
which Nature cannot take back to herself
and resolve into the elements,
when man has thrown it aside.

These hillocks of waste and
effete mineral always disfigure
the neighborhood of ironmo

Winter Byrd

A Conversation with Cohen (Curiously not devastating.)

He died

and in the

realm of things

it couldn’t be

disputed,

rejected,

or even judged

Father’s bow tie

was dissected

and a parting

prayer to speed

him along his way

was inserted into

its fibrous carcass

and buried in

the garden like

a funeral

for the formal

and the final.