Poem #44
This is a workmanlike poem
It doesn’t have time for love
It’s all been chiseled from stone
It seeks physical endurance
While ceding emotional resonance
To aspiring sonnets and odes
It lacks beautiful imagery
Due to disciplined editing
It settles for being a series of small words
That convey a simple meaning
It’s the stagnant waters dulled to opacity
Desperately clinging to all the colors
In the sky before the clouds come
It’s closing your eyes and counting to ten
While all the angels are falling
You pay it no mind but these
Are the ones that get inside
Prosody is fine and dandy
But I’ve always taken to tenacity
12/22/22
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