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POETRY
The profoundly
dysfunctional,
The professionally unhappy -
There's a fee I don't want to pay
To enter that particular Parnassus,
Though everyone who enters
Gets to be a genius.
Nor do I want to be
captive
There in the quarry,
Bellowing my pain,
Hurling metaphors like boulders,
Using the sticks of dynamite they allow me
To blast great chunks
From the granite of language.
Better to be passing
through,
And passed through.
I eat life,
And shit poetry.
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