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Stealing From Ee Cummings

creep through the small door
the large door
towards the sleeping poet
large on the small bed.

Poetry is something
you say
to take for yourself
not to steal

but i do not listen
i go closer closer
so many bells in the background
i walk to his side.

Poetry abounds in his head
i snatch an idea
bells ringing
and run

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Comments (1)

I'm sorry about the title, but the rules...