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Stirring the Poet

Stirring the Poet.jpg

White washing words, ill-begotten this thought

as serpent tongue speaks through salamander

surreptitious truth is flagged as slander

yet stain remains, I am the horrid spot

 

Songs of the bird are not worth recalling

we all nod along and choose not to be

the difficult one that doesn't agree

killing God, we applaud the appalling

 

The death of language; poetries caper

uttering dissent, a sentence to die

as the flies with money milk system dry

lies with honey entrap us on paper

 

While fools worship things for all they are not

I call kettle black, for I stir the pot

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