A transcendental phrase permits no space
For formless, pointless, delegated thoughts.
Constricted structuring, façades of face,
And all that lives remains, absconds, or rots.
How every daily absolution brings
More reticence and formalism au pair!
In better synonyms there cannot be
A truth, only a dreary, stifled air.
Located somewhere, headed nowhere, I
Don my soiled sentimantle, and then
(All dactylonomy aside) i make
Charientism, until I jism, and see—
Directed nowhere, no spark in their brains,
Exquisite corpses smiling on dim trains.