*** [untitled nineteen]

a direct question from a reader
flustered the poet as he walked
along the lines of monteverdi
so he replied something brief
and ran before the lone barnacle
got hold of what he actually said
and mr nothing asked him later

he believed the word was ought
perhaps a call for moderation
hardly resembling his absurd will
to have an incongruous notion
of what constitutes a character
old enough to become freely
disappointed in himself

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