I Am Not a Poet

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The only thing I hate about this clock
is how its hands are as thin as noodles –
coming into my life as a killer
piece of handiwork that does not take rest
when giving her my ear or my skill set;
amazing in mini golf, why I say!
We must go out for some cheesecake and ribs.
Rules laden with the paradox of self,
dance with a moose? Go right ahead my friend;
the world is a stage, while your crew is wood
from which siding is made, what a comment!
Decisions can step on the feet of all,
even if those feet are of a farmer –
skilled language, but I am not a poet.





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