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Be

Wouldn't it be nice to be a poet
My words trickling down the spine of today
tickling it into a quiver

Maybe just a singer
living an unknown existence as a nightclub template
a concert instrument
feigning experience and feeling
in a musty recording room
with other stringed instruments.

I could be a communist
with a book and a belief
A practical philosopher overlooking
embedded paradox

Maybe just a desk worker
begrudgingly finishing every day
until sleep.

I surrender, fighting against
a mob of mediocre abilities
but a belief about being
nobody and nothing.

If i could call myself
by any name to aspire to be it
maybe i could tame this
lop-sided freedom
unaided with hope or desire
like an angry animal ravaging
in every direction in space

To be - as Adrienne Rich said -
be as without movement.

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