BeNny and Joone
Her words are paper-maché She sews them haphazardly They are broken and eaten and doused in clay She goes ‘round with a clumsy rhyme: brazenly As she does so, I will stop Always thinking: will I drop? Her stanzas are magical, or perhaps not Maybe I just need to write: ‘tis worth a shot He writes careful, in a deliberate side-step She writes madness, in a turmoil of a process They’re a sludge of heavy pep Toss the form! It’s a goddamn mess Neither knows what the…
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