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shout imprecations at the birds.
they flatter tiny woodland flowers,
then stagger off and fuck for hours.
poets drunk on words and wine
think like minks and act like swine.
they covet their neighbor's ass and spouse
and spill their drinks around the house.
just let a poet read aloud
to a person, couple or a crowd
at a wedding, briss or christening
and the fool will think someone's listening.
but in her heart she's got to know
that poets come and poets flow
and the poet's disease is cured with time
or another draft of words and wine.♦
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