John-Michael Gariepy

[Insert Title]

There was a time I used to
crank out poems
one, two, three, four, five,
like clay pigeons for cumming’s
Death’s Buffalo Bill.
Now the words come slow.

Is it a result of being rusty,
becoming more organized or
both? I don’t know, but
somewhere I lost something.

There was a time that I’d
sit down to write and I
wouldn’t stop writing until
I stood, and there’d be
a long time between both events.

Now the words come slow.

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