A Priority Of Muse
Whither goes the gull in slow afternoon,
Naked of feathery coverings.
Tragedy befalls its jaunt
While soaring the warping ether.
And all I do is stare,
Bold release of observance:
An attempt to discern
The bird's duress.
And no feel but the pressure
Threshed among the chair;
Sitting and writing and looking-
What matters monologues and expressions,
When life is primordial, poetry second?
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