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Showing posts from December 9, 2018

Chestnuts from the Old Toboggan

A poem has never been exact. A poem has never looked up to. A poem has never been without. Many poems stream across turnpikes. Some poems seem like direction. Some directions seem like poems. Most poems leave for a while. Other poems litter. Some poems fill time. Little poems fill time. Big poems fill time. All poems edit time. An inside poem is always outside. A poem might taste indifferent. A poem doesn’t matter. A poem isn’t you.