Being of slightly unsound mind, and a bit Irish as well,

and not being in possession of an Etymology degree,

nor a codebreakers manual, I can never see the point

of poetry that is written in a manner bordering on the

unreadable.

As if the writer's  mind has had enough of jumbled

and jangled cogitation, and so to protect itself, it

evacuates the bowels of the brain, resulting in

rhyming slime dripping like bile onto the page.

Such a page appears seemingly full of the

contents of your average thesaurus . . . and then some !

mixed with the writer's obligatory need to unload

his, or her, 'Unique' take on life, and love,

relayed to the reader in a litany of disjointed jargon,

guaranteed to deliver the kiss of death to another

momentous missive . . .

Intellectual seriousness . . . get over yourself.