I think now is a good time to write
A poem for sunshine or darkness,
Not people or places,
Not even ideas
Or things, just extremes.
Sometimes my job is unclear:
Am I to rip you asunder
With sounds of my cynicism?
Should we be discussing pared-down prose
Or poetry,
Cold and influenced and to the point,
Or am I to lavish you with gifts of metaphor
And big talk from the old country?
Shall I have a history for you?
Shall I be an icon for greatness
Or obscure hero who destroys labels
And quietly hides inside the trunk at the back of the stage,
Shivering for applause?
I'm all done.
I am not an artist,
I am a sham of sham
Of a working man
Who took notice in beautiful images
Painted on a store window and said
"I want in".
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