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Friday, September 11, 2020

(Poem September 2020)

 (Poem September 2020)

I thought I was important

The joke was always

On me

I don't think this now

I'm convinced my importance

Encouraged by my stage mom

Was so misplaced

And inappropriate

I should apologize

My mountain top now

Is an old trailer in Iowa

In a park filled with

Good people 

And a few bad

Like everywhere

So I pontificate to the walls

My smartphone is convinced

I'm a genius

My day starts with oatmeal

The rain is heard as I slurp

My cheap coffee

A few eggs go into a pan


I hear violins on a radio

My fingers brush fabric

On the bed sofa towel

Just to feel

And my clothes

These will decide

To abandon my body

For a dollar rack

I shall return to dust

Just as dust covers

My furniture

Whose dust is this

I know but I request silence

Of the spirits I've tracked in

Barry G. Wick

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