Wordsworth Meets Warhol

by Greg Baysans

. . .

The world is too much fucking with us; late and fucking soon,

Getting and fucking spending, we lay waste our fucking powers:

Little we see in fucking Nature that is fucking ours;

We have given our fucking hearts away, a fucking sordid boon!

This fucking Sea that bares her fucking bosom to the moon;

The fucking winds that will be howling at all fucking hours;

And are up-fucking-gathered now like sleeping, fucking flowers;

For this, for fucking everything, we are fucking out of tune;

It moves us not. Great fucking God! I'd rather fucking be

A fucking Pagan suckled in a fucking creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this fucking fucking pleasant lea,

Have fucking glimpses that would make me less fucking forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus fucking rising from the fucking sea;

Or hear old fucking Triton blow his wreathéd, fucking horn.



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