Thrush Poetry Journal
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Jackson Holbert

Kitsch With Ruptured Rhythms And Present Tenses

Perfection, of any kind, is not what we are after,
And the poetry we invented hasn’t been invented yet;
We know human folly like the backs of our hands,
And, because of this, we want to discard armies and fleets;
When we laugh, respectable senators dismiss us with laughter,
And when we cry the little children are already dead in the streets.


           * a response, in admiration, to W.H. Auden’s Epitaph on a Tyrant




Jackson Holbert is a senior at Lakeside High School in Nine Mile Falls, Washington. This is his first published work.




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