LAST ENTRY I see that the new improved version of this blog-machinery must turn poems into run-on prose, and since what I post is poetry, I can no longer control lineation, the soul of poetry's music, and so farewell, dear followers, I hereby end this run, victimized by "new and wonderful" impossibilities so helpfully ruinous.

Unable to Correct mishmash of previous entry

Dear Reader: My previous poem has a little intro and then the poem appears as run-on prose (thanks to all the new and unhelpful "improvements" we must constantly suffer on line?). In any case, hoping the following will be allowed to remain a poem with some respect for lineation (which sometimes takes 30 years to get right). It's an Oldie that seemed right for the end of the school year. FINAL EXAM Once I dreamed of a golden beetle, a tiny machine with metal-like parts, that grasped in its buzzing mandibles a rose with a lady's name, and gnawed. I woke all sodden with wonder and set this final exam: the beetle is perfect, likewise the rose. And all deconstructs, all's stunningly strange as Venus the Goddess or Venus the planet is rated more dear than Pluto, plus look how we kill the roaches, accounted ugly though they like us only wish to be happy, asking so little, grease from the stove, dust from the floor. An ugliness scampers darkly about in everyone, who'll doubt it? and yet how many pause to glance their own way while stoning the neighbor? O, cause no pain but likewise swallow no stone! Of course he eats the delicate rose, my beetle; of course it's sad, the ruined rose. So, quick, as to this system of ours, Improve, or Explain.