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He seems so distant to us these days,
Not just in his farmboy recollections--
Tales stitched atop sere, Midwesterly lives--
But also in his social ..
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The splendid stars, the fragrant trees
That cense the atmosphere, make some folks wheeze,
And others sneeze . . .
Spring fever affects us in variou..
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A lowly, lonely quince bush
In a lowly, lonely yard--
Untended except for the annual mow
As dictated by the County.
Garlic grass and chickweed mos..
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Like daisy petals plucked by schoolgirls,
Afloat on indifferent whirls of air,
They amount to scarcely a snowflake scatter
That litters the ego's w..
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Ettore won't thrust his own pen into odes,
Or laments, or pastoral compositions;
He's reported as saying that poems are beneath him,
An affront to ..
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Real writers aren't afraid of death;
They cantillate aureate odes to it,
Anthems of pain laced with jubilance.
They don't hide behind their video c..
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The Chinese restaurant turned away
My friends when they went there on Christmas Day;
Back into the cold they had to flee,
And I'm sorry to say that..
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We stack our sheaves of literature
High, to the stratus zone;
Their bulk depresses their elders down,
Below the waves of the known.
Some achieve a..
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Why do I even make the effort--
That is: why leave my house at all--
For these bimonthly bids to prove I'm congenial
By locking horns with essentia..
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His brain is tuned a little too high
And sensitive;
The chroma-chords that twangle there
Can be jarring and jitter-shot.
He's a colorful bird of f..
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