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Lines to a muse

Last night I dreamed of

us talking

Trash TV

Knowing that we’d

never reach

such intimacy


I’m made of words

with little said and of

scant worth

You’ve both feet planted firmly

In uncommon

rare earth


Putting it down has

Dead poets turning

in graves

and live ones too protesting

an unseemly way

To behave


A smile perhaps for

meetings unsuited

to understanding

Reward enough to

give gifts that cats

often drag in

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