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(Yes, I left the room quietly rather than listen to his detailed fantasy regarding the slow and sadistic knifing of his father — all in the name of “poetry.” So sue me.)


If the price for staying here
Was to countenance deceit,
Of clandestine usury
Have the dubious receipt

If disrespect and denigration
Would have been my daily lot —
Reexamine me the value
Of what regret I ought!

Two thousand works of pristine value
Classed beneath those of a clown
Fond of using poetry
To bring his audiences down

To primitive instinct
Violence and fear
The kind of stories we thought went
Out with the pioneers —

What am I really losing?
Surely nothing that I want
I hie me hence with happy heart
And lifting feet — Avaunt!

The poet/editor of this website is physically disabled, and lives at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level. Contributions may be made at:https://www.gofundme.com/are-you-a-patron-of-the-arts

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Ana Daksina

About the Author: Ana Daksina

Over 200,000 times to date, thousands have been enjoying 2,500 works of original poetry and prose at the Timeless Classics site: http://timelessclassics.wordpress.com Join us!

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