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  • I'm at my desk writing poems.
    The village is quiet.
    I'm home all alone.
    It's not that I've got much to say.
    I've got nothing better to do with my time
    than to sit here composing couplets that rhyme.
    This is by no means a lucrative pursuit.
    Poets often go hungry.
    They're crazy to boot.
    They're frequently broke.
    They tend to be strung out on booze
    Coke or pills as they lyrically sing their songs
    Of the soul and the mind and the heart and
    The exorbitant dues they must pay for their art.
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