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Poverty Hindsight
As the musky scent
of incense burns away,
I wander from room
to icy room
filled with a fragrant sense
that riches must be found
under our memory box,
in dusty corners,
between the family albums
and tattered story books.
I remember you as a child
and redecorate your preciousness
with splashes of paste
from a brand new bucket
and together we hang the rolls of
flowery paper love
you always wished for.
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You, far more than humor, had an immune superefficiency.
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Never fear. The pharmaceutical industry will try to convince my inspired creativity isn't the real me writing. Why, without them I might be a nonsensical troll dwelling under a bridge braising other members and eating them for dinner... xxx
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Nice description of the house you lived in as a child. It reminds me of how I felt years ago when I went into the building I lived in when I was very young just months prior to it being demolished.
You should consider making a collection of your poetry if you haven't already. It is as good as anything I've read recently by poets who get their works published and placed in libraries.
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Did I ever formally crown you queen of the kitchen sink metaphor? X
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yes you did Jerry but its a bit tarnished now...x