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When putting finger to keys,

recent flourishes of expression

tend to be distraught productions!

Thus I contribute to poetry's patent pros of sadness.

How is it, that this is the patent?

Could it be,

sorrowful soliloquies intrude

a person's place


spreading itself onto your couch

feet sprawled upon the central fixture,

the table upon which

all living room operations are managed!

Your favorite coffee table

is now at the mercy of this visitor.

While they scroll your Netflix suggestions.

In such cases, if we were to articulate one's

neural activities,

which naturally accessible,

and neatly available,

would account the occupation

of this menace!

Whilst joy and elation,

do they visit as frequently?

Perhaps their commute is longer

so more often they require a phone call

of sorts

to be bothered to stop by.

And when one already has the living room occupied

with authority,

by another

- unpleasant I might add-


well it can be difficult

coaxing happiness' appearance.

And so other methods may be attempted

to bring about a stay from

those who

would inspire

an alternative

position from which to write

or type

or ruminate over

and over

and over

And therein another challenge!

Even the desire,

and effort

with which one can

bring the groundhog of gratitude

from hiding

can accidentally end in producing

for that other creature,

a cot upon which to lay,

drawers into which its belongings can be stored,

racks for hanging coat and hat.

Rendering your abode a hostel for that hostile,

And you,

a hostage to its habits.

And so maybe that is why

there is this general impression

for writings

by those

whose inclination

is to frequent their living space

and articulate its happenings.

By James Kreuz

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