By Gary Lindorff
Welcome to the Land of No-poetry.
If I succeed in writing this poem
No one will understand me.
It will be like talking backwards.
It will be like autism.
There is no music here,
Except what you buy.
The weather is predictable.
Frogs are two-headed or one-legged
But it doesn't mean anything.
Up means up, down means down.
Everything makes bitter sense, but what is bitter?
We don't know anything about that.