Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Poem, You Cheeky Bastard

Poetry ought to simplify things. It ought to explain things, bring people together. That's the grandiose ideal I suppose. In a real practical world, poetry causes trouble. It incites confusion. A form so lending of itself to personal interpretation brings the hammer down on personal relationships. I accidentally typed relationshops. Maybe that's more accurate. It's a lot of fucking work.

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