Wrote the autofictional
Medical professional
Turned novelist. Aha! So,
Now it’s poetry stolen
Back. Is poetry transfused
Some forty pages into
A hunk of prose narrative
Still poetry? Is a tale
Stripped down by experiments
With the game of Telephone
In a psychologist’s lab
A ghost story anymore?
It’s a digestive system,
Isn’t it, this thing, culture,
The collective mind, the myth?
At some point forbidden fruit
Becomes an apple, becomes
The innocent who ate it.
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