To Hell with Your Manifesto

We did what must be done, or seemed so

at the time, it was quite simply
an altogether lovely evening

for it, picture friendly – so

to Hell with your manifesto for writing
with bifurcated tongue! (That’s forked?)

Your accent’s a beaut, th’Ungullible brooded

mostly round her generous hips.
Wake up, she said, refreshed as fish

dropped back, at home in the land at present,

here nor there remaining any
conceivable spacetime, really, where

th’Essential Poem might have gone.