This is not a poem.

She says with utmost humility–as if the others really were
I haven’t quite figured out what this writing is all about
Clearly, I’m the only one who gets it, the poetry, that is–
my poetry. It could just be the musings of an idle brain
or the ramblings of procrastinating prevaricator, lonely lass or
introverted ignoramous. Aren’t those words fun? No? Really?
Have you thought of why you do what you do? Are you caught up
in the economic motivations of your efforts so much so that you’ve
lost sight of the consequences of it all? I’m happy to report that
I have not. Forgotten, that is. Forgotten about you or you or you.
And, if “Charity never faileth,” then we should all give at a try for our
own ironic sakes.


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