I often think
I'd like to be a poet
Or perhaps already am, see
I love to wear sweaters
And love the cold (though not to feel cold) weather
And quirky little, oddly shaped sentences
And the minor spellcasting of
phrases crafted that,
from a distance make
the brain itch,
Or the eyes open,
Or the heart,
Open, I mean,
Open or even break, break open,
Or even make one reck…
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