Monday, November 17, 2008

I Didn't Even Know Poetry Was Sick

Looks like we have a new blog to watch for. It's called Where Poetry Goes to Die. The author is one W. B. Picklesworth. And his output appears to be worth at least a pickle. Perhaps two.

Developing. . . .

4 comments:

Night Writer said...

There's something strange, yet disconcertingly familiar, about that prose.

Could it be the return of one of blogdoms poet laureates? Or perhaps a "poet lariat" - the kind that makes you say, "Get a rope!"

Mark Heuring said...

It is mysterious, NW. There's a certain sense of deja vu I get upon reading it.

It does bear watching. And it probably would be a good idea to keep a rope handy; one can't be too careful these days....

W.B. Picklesworth said...

Lariats? Ropes? Where's the love?

Dan S. said...

Hmmm...

Agreed the poetry seems familiar. All that's missing is a random French phrase to clinch the identity of Mr. Picklesworth.