shooting a few

             some poets are magicians,
             existing as they do in the interstices
             any confrontation seems reckless
             though saying this to someone
             acts as a quaint stand-in,
             something familiar on our side
             of the chicken wire

             but most poets are farmers.
             you've been picking at your scalp all evening.
             what's under your fingernail, that's poetry?
             I imagine if you see it that way.
             I'd rather roam like a hunter
             who expects his weapon to backfire,
             the night made brilliant by accident.
             any craftsman can build a barn.
             what matters is
                                         how I was blinded out there

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