Who reads poetry? The point, I can see
hovers between catharsis and stasis
on the street, I hear people walk in fear
reason makes folks flee, when style sets us free
everyone forgets the war in a bar
as we leave, we kiss goodbye, we may miss
drunken banter, clear the house of stale beer
sickness from bottom shelf drinks, lets me think
pray, we try too hard, and mimic the Bard
or, nobody cares, it won't pay the fares
everyone throws down some pitch in a stitch
to save she who dares, who survives the stares
recently, a glitch allowed me to ditch
yellow newsprint for black ink, verses stink
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