I heard audio files

I heard audio files of the bleats and blubberings

of the classical herd of histrionics, and then I

listened to the lingering lisps of the modernists

and georgians, after a while, as the transmission

crackled with server overload, I ventured to hear

the postmodernists, and heard music blended

like goldfish into the mix of straightforward

and unusual syntax, I heard a joke the other day

and it was miles better than the beats and snubberings

of the elastical hurt of the history majors who loosened

their science and longingly latched onto the poetics

of the foucauldian abyss, the angry avatars against

the osbourne of the cuts and the kitchen sink,

I think the punch line was one I cherish, because

it was one octave above the range of a chipmunk

and thus, lost in the noise of muttering like a Portuguese

writer in the blindness of a notebook that is published

like one unfurls a toilet roll, a parchment of prejudice

suitable for the ears of the literatti, and NOW

you must wonder HOW might this sound - like PROSE

or wait a bit, POETRY, will I accompany it on the spoons?

Bring in Nelly the elephant to stomp out or trumpet

my talent for murdering the poem, mon dieu?