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Not Whistled For

Poems do not come when whistled for. They don't respond to flattery or coercion. They cannot be contrived or trapped, are not manipulated. Forget your wiles your arguments computerized persuasions. Go for a walk. Go turn your back. A poem will overtake you grab you with iron fist and hurl you forth in teeth of gale in lightning flash in flame of fire in thunder's crash and leave you sobbing spent and weak aware that you are not the voi ce that you heard speak.

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