Vox Pop

in Prose Poems

The Grid vibes Old Testament. Too tabularly tribal. Too personal. Too punishing. Too eye for an I.

Locke and logic. Like a pre-Socratic scrum moving toward a signal… mistaken for a voice.

Imp impetus loud but static as app amplitude real feels the Apocrypha. Loose canon?

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I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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