Canto VI: OUR BAY
(Guanabara, San Francisco or Fundy...it all depends on who "our" refers to.)
(a work in progress)
Poet Poe pens nonsense verse. "Plus...phun," puns Uly, "I disburse." Its gamut runs from spam to worse. The po'sy posted...? Poe's diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a mitzva, mostly. (Not a curse.)
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