A--vague--recollection of those Takahashi poems beginning--each of them--"This morning, Her Majesty the Queen..." and then, with the same impassive tone--almost a fairytale--with the same honorable, restrained ceremoniousness, they shift to detail the spectacle of the most inordinate corruption.

It is not the anecdote. It's that oxymoron between form and content that makes of those poems a necessary, useful, social fact: the poem as myth--in the sense of synthesis and of conglomeration of meaning; as shortcut for thinking and feeling, in all its shrillness, a fragment, the intersection of any two axes of a given reality which, otherwise, would fade in the minutiae of its own obscenity.

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