Inclinations

My mind is inclined towards poetry,

so that when I open my mouth the words

trip over themselves in a frantic attempt

to be beautiful, to be more than ordinary.

And they don’t know much, these words,

about the world they’re falling into because

we live in the ordinary, depend on it, in fact –

we are born to be comfortable and they are

so confused about how readily acceptable

that is that someday, I’m afraid,

they may cease coming at all.

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9 thoughts on “Inclinations

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