This good fun, but it isn’t poetry (though I was the owner of a / of the general is a terrific line; I had no responsibility whatsoever is a promisingly ambiguous confession, in isolation; and the typeface/page design is lovely).
To be fair, it isn’t prose either, not prose that stands up to the scrutiny of even two-thirds of Orwell’s six famous rules. (And thank God Mr. Romney isn’t given to figurative language or foreign or scientific jargon, or he’d have hit the six-fecta.)
And to be fairer still, none of us would feel any better seeing how expression-vacant our extemporaneous words are in print than Mr. Romney should about this.
Still, whatever Mr. Romney’s poetry lacks in clarity, feeling, meaning, shape, je ne sais quoi–and the expressive integrity of all these together? Art is the opposite of that.
(Image found at Here in Van Nuys.)