Why You Read This Blog Instead Of Actual Poetry

Were it a time of day

And we a natural feature

It would liken us to feel

A passive emotion.

So ere it be

That words long forgotten

Exfoliate our mutual conditions

To clarify depth and artistry.

Whosoever feels

By and large unfeeling

Throws the mercy upon themselves

To the black asp of memory

And by such consumption

Your consciousness neglects

That this poem is really

A fart joke by a PhD. 

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