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| December 2024 | ||||||
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Newly revised random poetic snippet
Found this lying around in the electronic snippet graveyard, edited it a little, and ended up with the following untitled poem....
You and I can laugh together at the heavy heft of this thin thing: my pig of pages fatted for the lean kill in spring, to whom no farmer comes.
These verses are content to wallow in their own mud, and it is a fine thought to keep your hands clean of common poetry.
A pig in a poke—we can both find that funny.
