We’re Still Poets

Free Verse ReVolution

Been etching sketches in
a straw man’s journal,
hoping to seduce the kernels off
low-hanging fruit.

I’ve been wondering why
we shoot serenity in the
foot when there are so many
good roads to pursue.

If you ask me what wisdoms have
been accrued since eighty-five;
well, my vision’s certainly grown
more asinine, but

I’d point you to the painter
whose masterpieces have grown fewer
and farther between after broad
strokes left him colour blind.

Could tell you of a mime who lost
his inspiration after revelations he
was laughed at and never
with.

I’ll play you violinists whose
clefts and baritones grew more
morose as their treasure trove of
Celtic optimism equated to

an audience sinking
in their seats.

We’d attend civil rights rallies
and realize fallacies of the cause;
forge eternal friendships that can
be gone forever over a few

miscommunicated seconds.

I’d want to tell you we’ll…

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