Has there ever been a better con
Than Shakespeare’s well-loved eighteenth sonnet?
The shifty misdirection’s genius,
Even leaving aside all the tricks
Of his exquisite cabinetry.
If ever poem were built like virus,
That’s the one. Any reader, any
Receiver can play the part of thou,
The unnamed, genderless belovèd.
Oh, and that fine promise, DOA,
That thou, remaining anonymous,
Will live forever, thanks to this poem
That may memorialize Shakespeare,
But gives life to no one, save itself.
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