Monday, March 19, 2018

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I know a good poem. And the difficulty in breaking out of the chains of my own inability to achieve that poem (and this one ain't it either). I see how few poets do, and  I truly marvel at them.

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This rectangle is my exercise yard.
Snow bare now,

all my poems start,
haul themselves across the space,

stumbling in chains,
dreaming freedom.

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