Nobody reads poetry anymore

Nobody reads poetry anymore

various spring flowers planted in old chair
Nobody reads poetry anymore

Not really

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An assigned selection here

A referenced snippet there

Of story and

Truth and 

fantasy tellers

from years long

long

long

gone
Nobody reads poetry

anymore

Not really

which makes it 

so very tempting

and easy

and freeing

to pour everything out

line by 

line 

over time

A couplet here

A stanza there

Truth wrapped up in letters and

Unleashed in barely controlled torrents of telling riddles
It is safe to do

Safe to be

Allow

Place

Pour

Lie down

All the things

that would remain

unspoken

unclear

untended 
No one reads poetry anymore

Not really

Yet some

still 

Dream and 

wish and 

hope and

think and

write

it

anyway

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