This poem is the same as the last poem.


“This poem is just the same as the last one.”
“Why?” you ask.
“Well…” I begin, “It uses the same words.”
“Yes?” 
“Just in a different order.”
“Oh.”
“And it’s written in English.”
“Sì.”
“Precisely. I never vary it at all. Ever! I even write it like it’s not a poem… when ‘inside’ it really is.”
“No. There is no ‘po-et-ry’ at all in the above.”
“True. But, that’s what I love about writing. It knocks on my door; I open the door; and ‘poetry’ stands there ‘inviting’.”
“I see. However, can I just say one thing to you…?”
“To me?”
“Sì! You are a spirit free; and what you do with your words is fine by me.”
“Really?”
“Nah! Just trying to support your fragile reality.”
“Cheeky!”

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