With a vague idea of the age of winnocence,
Mr Honk stumbled upon the most delightful insult:
strange creatures with a few feathers
where brains should be—and it only took it a century
to reach his bookshelf.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
While preparing for The Waste Land, Mr Honk observed
the future custodians sailing their four wheels in a downpour
and wondered if the previous inhabitant of his study
also echoed Dryden’s grumbling about the wanton boys
with their ‘I’ll tell yer wot ‘e is, I’ll tell yer strite’—
a façon de parler that’s enthralling to the point it hurts.
But as an incorporeal entity—with his abandoned language
of an estranged homeland—who was he to complain?
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
I am a jerk,
an arsehole,
a chauvinistic pig,
but I’m supposed to be—
I am a man, after all,
just another
testosterone junkie,
and I’m okay with that
as long as no one
calls out my pussy
as inadequate.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
hidden pilcrow 