Unlikeness
I used to know a poet. His slovenly disheveled poems reminded me an alcohol-prone loser’s beard, but in person he happened to be a clean-shaven, well-tailored gentleman who hasn't had a drop since Bicentennial. And sometimes it's just the other way round: aristocratic rhymes on closer examination turn into dipsomaniacs.
poets and their poems
don't resemble each other -
poets die poems don't
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