the temptation, though, to unreel an invidious procession of mighty literary figures parading across the centuries

Whosoever has allowed the villanelle to enter them or the sonnet.

the moribund progress of their gross intellectual lassitude

all that stupid palaver about "untapped potential"

sneak such scabrousness in through the back door

in a society as deracinated and stripped of tradition and continuity

They spend lambent, warm afternoons sequestered in quiet rooms.

this is an increasingly irrelevant and rarefied end, consigned to the specialists

without any uniformity as to time and place of dissemination to serve as communal aspic

ultimately serves as an augury of the way out