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Thursday, April 7, 2011

I Made a New Mind with the Hatred

And so in the breaking
I made new a mind
And took from the masters
Their surprise
Which as a fellow breakage
Might enter
In the pages. And that’s
The door that opened
For a Poet
The door she Shuts
On her Perpretrators
For Good
For Ever
Like A Sonnet
Never Written
Or Composed
A Thousand Times
To Make A BowTie
Of Evil Shadows,
To Knit in Iron
A Dove
And her Flowers
To Mark in the History
Of Letters
And Humanities
That here stood a Woman
Many were her Adversaries
Many were their Methods
Many were their Apologists
Many were their Aiders.

And one little Nerd against the Turmoil, The Tide, and the Grit

Who sang to her Kids
“what makes that little ant
think he can move a rubber tree plant?”
This Sonnet is a Fictional Work. Any perceived, apparent, or implied relationship to entities or persons is coincidental.

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