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JOHN LATTA

               Diffuse

Diffuse with boyish grandiosity, you

 

Imp up a rhyme by

 

Flummoxing, half fire, half screed.

 

In Comedy, y’r little Selves

 

You meet, spliff city shakedown

 

In frail style, puco rimbomba

 

With lazy fury: the zephyr’s

 

Back brimming with good weather.

 

As the voice in’th’ flowers

 

Ice-tines the fortissimo of

 

That singer, so divinity is

 

Unveil’d in psittacine bark and

 

Chatter. You cracker. You Polly.

 

Yon harangue is a right

 

Fell industry, and bland happiness

 

Batters at a severed tongue.