B.J. - Poem by Douglas Scotney
For a novel to make it as art
The end had to be at the start.
This is still largely so
'cause we think that we know
And don't want to know
Why it is we don't want to know.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You