Sporadic

The poems
are
sporadic
are

sporadic

are

not in the

 

right place

right
time

the

 

poems are

 

sporadic
are sporadic
are

nomadic

into sporads peering

sporaticus
to
the
end
of

 

the

 

 

poem

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No

You are not the one
who will save the world
from the man with the axe
or the woman with the spear
you are not the one
who will save that cat
from its perch in the tree
or the other cat’s claws
you are not the one
who will save yourself
from the sanctimony
of this bad poem