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Rugged Diction


He said at his age
“My Dearest” and concluding
a letter with “Love,”
strikes a deep chord of meaning
that should not be taken lightly.
But what he meant was
it should not be taken lightly
by my lower class of wisdom—
my age that would never care
to delve nor decode it.

Plus, he said “dearest is a superlative,”
meaning, I suppose, that it must proceed
with a pronoun, someone’s name,
particularly his, probably in cursive writing,
or italicized, or bolded with elegant fonts.

But what he does not know
is how I am more concerned with
the texture of paper, curious
about the rain in Seattle,
and knew what it meant when he said
he felt like “a ludicrous Toulouse Lautrec”.

I, who was introduced
to the English language by force,
has regurgitated rugged diction
and knowingly screwed with
a formalist’s head.

I meant to explain that I get nostalgic
when I eat sticky rice with my fingers
and sometimes there is a strong need
to pick all the meat off the bone
and sometimes the urgency of the matter
just disrupts the ecology of my heart.
Notwithstanding, I’m sure, he meant well
when he said that despite my run-on sentences,
I write better poetry.



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