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John Carey
You can write poems
On venetian blinds,
Flash them on and
off to the world.
Someday
The men with
The guns and butter
Will see you from the street,
Tramp up the stairs
To your room,
Strangle you with the
Cord of your caution.
Then they will praise you
As a tragic genius,
Your readers will admire
Your poems
While your body
Hangs
Behind the blinds.
All original materials by Jim Culleny Copyright 2007 / noutopia.com