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No wonder people seldom read these ‘things’
—most poetry is thick beneath its ink;
and though not shrunken to the rounds of kings
nor only clapped up high on shelves in schools,
it’s seldom free to fly with daylight flings …

Verse can frack like dishes in a sink
or slam in bars and break some petty rules,

but, listen, some of these can make you think
or leave you like a waiter at a door,
a door so thick and high and wide and locked
that any bang on it goes off half-cocked …

Poems turn to pages on a handheld screen
or volumes walled across a library floor.
Although we ‘get’ some parts of it, there’s more.

Author: Damian Robin

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