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Clown Poet

He had a way with words, spoken or written, could clown around with them, could leave you smitten, but he could be most sober, and somber, too, and leave you with a hybrid point of view. Beneath a tree, his epitaph winks at me: "Lachrymose don't be, this isn't tragedy, you should've seen my dad doing comedy, well, apples fall near the tree where I pee."

Copyright © | Year Posted 2008




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Book: Shattered Sighs