A nameless poem, aimless words,
left scorned, unadorned,
at risk
of eternal unreadness.
No verse to be fixed
’til it fits in the mix, to be tagged
on the ear like a pig.
Nor indexed, nor cited,
all love unrequited,
for lack of the lie
called Untitled.
The Smith Compound 
hey. this is quite good! i browse through a lot of “poems”, most drive me nuts. this was well-done.
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Well thanks. I got a good laugh out of the “Trump” Snowy Evening post. Had to memorize the original and it’s still rattling around in my brain decades later.
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