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Jul 2015
I believe in poetry as it pertains to
Memory, Emotion, and Its ability to Capture.
It is not a loaded gun or a ticking twist of wires.
But a camera built from sounds that
Make up not just what was where but
Why what wanted,
Who what was,
What we were.

It may be used for messy outlines but
Colors are too monotonous to read so
Descriptive, natural imagery
Is just masturbatory wordplay.

Even this is not a poem but
A wrongly worded essay on
connections
I have made and will not believe again
As soon as I see
Crumpled,
Dried Leaves
Skating across the street
And reach for my pen.
Written by
Rather Not Say
314
   mark cleavenger
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