Tonight I spent an hour kicking around
A
would-be poem in which I put a few
Winged
horses tiny as hummingbirds
Springing
up to fly about my head you
Were
suddenly in there too laughing
And
the one you plucked from the air
Whinnied
sweetly and I wrote I hid my
Panic
with a smile oh on top of that was
The
great cardiac arrest of sunset dying
In
agony and the indigo fear of placid
Shade
and other such labored phrases
Vulgarity’s
not a substitute for wit but shit
Who
writes like that good lord! still it’d be
Cool
wouldn’t it to catch a puny pegasus
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