There's little in taking or giving,
There's little in water or wine;
This living, this living, this living
Was never a project of mine.
Oh, hard is the struggle, and sparse is
The gain of the one at the top,
For art is a form of catharsis,
And love is a permanent flop,
And work is the province of cattle,
And rest's for a clam in a shell,
So I'm thinking of throwing the battle-
Would you kindly direct me to hell?

Dorothy Parker, "Coda"

I don't know why I love this poem so much...Partly, I think, because it's beautiful and expressive and sad, and it's written in METER, none of this slam bullshit, and at the same time the language is modern and not all archaified (un-word). Basically, I love this poem because Dorothy Parker kicks.