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I fret when I feel
the verse too rehearsed
the line too on time
the abstract too exact—
or an interior rhyme too
refine, sublime, or—
one trick tony

I pony up to run
on the rail—then
afraid to fail, I move wide
to be sure to obscure
the finish line- that
Winner’s Circle of Hell—
and subsequent pell-mell
descent— to dissent the
matter, of my canon

NaPoWriMo April 2020.


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