The Return Poem by David McLansky
The Return
The bubbling words percolate,
Wondering where I've been of late,
Needing life in their expression,
Muted by my Art's regression;
And thus by Art's necessity,
I deposit my sad history;
Less than what I was before,
More paralyzed but tempered pure.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: love
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4/19/2024 3:24:10 PM # 1.0.0.1119
