Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blogofascist
(With Apologies to) Wallace Stevens
I
Among twenty leftist websites,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blogofascist.
II
I was of three minds,
Like a diary
In which there are three blogofascists.
III
The blogofascist whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blogofascist
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blogofascist writing
Or just after.
VI
Idiocy filled the long window
With barbaric gas.
The shadow of the blogofascist
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.
VII
O thin men of the right,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blogofascist
Walks away with the feet
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blogofascist is involved
In what I know.
IX
When the blogofascist dropped out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
X
At the sight of blogofascists
Typing in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI
Joe rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blogofascists.
XII
The river is moving.
The blogofascists must be writing.
XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blogofascists sat
In the catbird seat.
Comments are closed on this story.