"real" poetry can ... reproduce the hidden music we are all born hearing but lose as we grow up.
- Anne Stevenson
Sunday, January 8, 2012
A Prosaic Quatrain (Or, It Gets Hard to Write Something /Every/day)
Sometimes my toilet just keeps on going;
It doesn't know when it should stop flushing.
I hear the water ceaselessly flowing -
Its frantic falling, its harried rushing.
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