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Eleven-Nineteen

My master loved schedules, precision, exactness.
He hated the flexible fluidity of wine-stained, mule buyers

To shame them he ventured to vocative vocation
Fashioning furniture sure to outlast them

But I was his masterpiece, all must admit
for I had embodied his publicized prophecy:

All men must die.

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Eleven-Nineteen
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: art
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
This poem was inspired by Pedestal Clock by Jean Godde, which is at the St. Louis Art Museum.
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM