Dorothy Parker is my favorite poet. She was dark and lonely and we've all been there. I would have loved to have sat, just one night, with the Algonquin Round Table. I have always had an appreciation for wordplay and clever wit. When they asked her to use the word horticulture in a sentence she immediately replied, "You can lead a 'whore to culture' but you can't make her think." I read somewhere that she's never made a spelling error or a mistake in sentence structure. I wouldn't want to know how many I've made in this short review!
Résumé
Razors pain you,
Rivers are damp,
Acids stain you,
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful,
Nooses give,
Gas smells awful.
You might as well live.
Symptom Recital
I do not like my state of mind;
I'm bitter, querulous, unkind.
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I dread the dawn's recurrent light;
I hate to go to bed at night.
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I cannot take the gentlest joke.
I find no peace in paint or type.
My world is but a lot of tripe.
I'm disillusioned, empty-breasted.
For what I think, I'd be arrested.
I am not sick, I am not well.
My quondam dreams are shot to hell.
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore;
I do not like me any more.
I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
I ponder on the narrow house.
I shudder at the thought of men,
I'm due to fall in love again.