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Sarah Meow
Poems
May 2012
Prosperity as a hobby.
Unprovided -- the pleasure of pleasing
is, after all, a painting that resolves
the irritating swings of a taxed evolution.
It seems that energetic trainees
of the future keep firm invitations
on the list of approved measures.
Yet living is not a guesstimate, reality
is attached by humor to the document
that simply reads "I'm not sure."
Imagine civilization as eight-years-old.
By want, business drains, not one laugh,
but the replacement of being one's own.
Shaped, the body is wary of the
counselor and satisfied by the character
of a farmer and time away from scorn.
Hang a map of sensibility in the kitchen,
where bare eyes can respond -- tokens of
action are the door prize for motivation.
The lessons not yet learned are musical.
Written by
Sarah Meow
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