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Apr 2020
I arranged words to make them
massive, like ancient stone columns
that held high murals of creation myths.

Similes explain sensations:
home-like. Faulty, flickering
memory transmits knowledge upon live wires;
singes.

Subdued clickitties that clack across my keyboard
sit upon furniture and rugs brought in from the car as
progress languidly melts into position,

and impurities remain.
When you join HelloPoetry.com, you are prompted for a simple writing submission, mainly to prove that you're human and actually enjoy the contents of the site you're about to join.

In my head, however...

The wizened council of poetry elders, battle-scarred and weary of the ceaseless mediocrity crashing upon their shores, looked down at me with contempt. So I took it upon myself to prove my worthiness to join their elite ranks by creating a poem on the spot, and my first in roughly 10 years, tackling what evidently was some form of writing anxiety in the process. It was a test of true disciples; I had not been found wanting!

It remains here, in its unaltered form. A memento, I hope, of what will assuredly become a return to prominence and international acclaim and, of course, unimaginable riches.
James McMahon
Written by
James McMahon  41/M/Columbus, OH
(41/M/Columbus, OH)   
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