Poem: Uninspired

all of the noise that pours in

must somehow filter out.

it happens, whether you’re actually aware of it – indeed, have no doubt.

consider this (if you will, if you must)

for what other purpose does it exist…

a little clearing of the clog,

a small approximation of hard-slog.

this is going to have to do.

i say that more often than not

these days.

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