who said you had to be an existentialist
in the seventies--I've been saying that
to blank-eyed stares for years;
there are words buzzing around me
and I bat at each one that isn't poetry
and the coffee is bitter,
and the conversation
is creamed, sugared, and stirred--
so I hear only the occasional word,
which is fine by me.
At the end of the day,
a page of ellipses
to show the world
that there are things
I have willingly
let slip away.
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