Do you remember the day you learnt
the difference between epistemology and epistolography,
and the fountain pen with emerald green ink
you chose because it seemed more appealing
than the serenity blue?
You couldn’t have known that the letters
would turn out to be a sentence
with a costly parole on the fleeing horizon
and a bitter aftertaste
that would stay with you as you go.
So, ditch the pimp king from Stratford
with his lovey-dovey quarto
and Veronese balcony,
and embrace the Frankfurt recluse
while you still can.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
hidden pilcrow 