Empty Lessons - Poem by Alexander Julian
A novel is as long as ten subjects.
For originality, what is the division?
More sounds are on the finger that counts.
Time is its own spirit of the greeting.
I wake by picture, dream out of returned opinions.
Anything is something else.
Prisons are on call to reserved locations, like bias.
We can probably swim in authority to fresh zooes.
Traffic is in a song.
Some teacher who isn't a master is no teacher at all.
One performance without guidance is just showing off.
Truth isn't volume, it's verification.
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