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Unpoetic

it would have been so easy to squeeze out neat verses from jumbled random thoughts, or fashion stanzas pretending profundity, or dash off lines of serious lyrical nonsense had I taken to heart the presumed propriety to be aloof, numb to the muffled stirrings of the mind over artless triflings with good and evil, justice, ethics or politics, had I been detached and insulated from pedestrian dalliances with the raw jubilations and searing sorrows of too familiar souls, and I would have been to you a true poet, your cold comrade at the shrine of a stoic art of the brain, not of the heart...but I'm the unpoetic.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2006




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things