Grand Theft Poetry
Don’t be shy.
You can’t invent new words for every verse
to whirl a phrase well-turned,
a time well-spoke, a love well-kissed.
The best stuff was already writ by the doyens of poets,
the heavy hitters of classroom lit,
those master wordy-twirlers
whose ink will never dry.
They were not shy. They borrowed. They snipped.
If you’ll be clever, you’ll swipe a bit.
If you want fame, go bold. Grand theft:
rob their tomes, their best of poems, till only blank pages are left.
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