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MY PEOPLE ARE POETS

maybe your people are chicano
your homeland is calafia
ladrones made it california
and in doing so suborned you
you are true
to you
and yours
abuela, abuelo
consuela, consuelo
home and hearth are hallowed           (continued below)

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maybe your people are golfers
who share with you
a vision trueof the unerring flight
of that one white
ball that will fall
into that cup
from which you drink
and swear to sink
forever

maybe your people are catholic
people who traffic in
the via dolorosa
and know so
well the path to
one another lies
in a common faith
and a common place
of community

perhaps your people are agnostic
jousting with the knowledge of the gnostic
taking great comfort in the wisdom of insecurity
their surety the shared doubt
about those who say they know
but show no fruit

could be your kind
are apt to find fiction their addiction
sharing stories of the glories of heroes
who inhabit whatever genre inks their quills

my people are poets
people who ponder
the here and yonder
and squander their days
in search of that perfect word
never heard in superlative familial combination
with its brothers and sisters

my people are poets
empowered by passion
to fashion from nothing
but impression and obsession
with the word a fresh image
of artistic expression that
is instantly recognized
to be aesthetic truth

for sooth
my people are poets

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