Poetry is a mystery to me.
Like a ransom note in binary
it's completely meaningless to the people
who need it most.
But for the rare few
who can feel the strange, first fire
the need is satisfied
and they turn away
whole - there is nothing to say.
The street is empty now,
only the blowing of loose leaflets
in the wind, unread.
- 5/31/2011
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