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Thursday, December 10, 2009

A humble offering: a poem

“This I know,” he said to me,

(in confidence duly noted) 

“that we really should be

speaking with glass jaws.

Quiet in those hallowed halls.

Wait for people to call you out 
(for they will, oh yes, they will) 
Beat you up, confabulate
Flame for all to see.”

"Do you know who I am?" 
they shout over wires and down halls

"Yes, my sire.
Oh so I do. 

And to you, my dame,
a humble request 
please forgive my misplaced trust
in words and deeds so poorly translated
by foggy minds in constant flux.”

As he left
he turned and whispered
these final words:

“Though intent was pure
and execution most faithful
It is what’s uttered by tied up tongues
That matters in the end.”

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