With dignified bearing,
the word kelter begot kilter,
giving the right of way
to kempt evolution,
forcing me to clear
my bilious throat,
and slaughter poetry
with kindled volution,
while I bereave my skill,
like a steam engine hissing bereft of revolution,
but I need not listen
to that keen raven’s cawing
to kibitz and berate my lines,
since “nevermore”
is never the solution.
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