a fallen pen
is worth a bend–
it changes what’s created,
a verse rehearsed
–not best, nor worst–
but found will permeate it…
You’ll write afresh
and see anew,
two quick collaborators,
a view now meshed
and quest unbound,
through script will be dictated.
So next time chance
a glancing scan,
from path you wend past grated
–guttered curbs
in towns and burbs,
since blurb might be awaiting,
in form of pen
misplaced by men,
or women as they gaited,
where you now tread
unwrit, unread
and consequently fated,
to blend and flow
from melded souls,
if only designated
–passer-by
would bend & try
to channel lost translators…
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