For some poets love,
Others war, revolution,
Others pained identities
Ascribed, suffered, and reclaimed,
Others faith, others beauty,
Bent autobiography,
Others pure experiment,
Memory of a rebel
Lover in the jade moonlight,
Sweet vows and deceits.
For this poet change and game,
The signs that speak for themselves.
The revolutionaries
And the devout may despise
The lovers and the aesthetes,
The autobiographers
And genuine sufferers
May bleed authenticity,
But I think we all agree
We exist and should resist
Words’ claims we’re ventriloquy.
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