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The Poetry of David
Magill
***** The Artist
by David Magill
Like a half dozen melted
crayons flung against dying
houses, we stare and don’t care
why
we just wonder
if they thought this surge of misplaced
irony would lend us the deep
thought of trained liars
when really we
walk away undisturbed and in the hallway
we hear their cries, their claims
but we know we are not alone
when pomp
claims a seat
in the art house crapper.
*****
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