Rocking Chair

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I will never sit in the rocking chair
in my declining years, just rocking there,
watching all the livers living their lives;
the rain comes down, and then the puddle dries;
forward and backwards, crunching the sand
instead of working poems with my hand,
or celebrating Shakespeare with my mind,
not resigning myself to clergymen’s lies.
I will keep on thinking beyond the walls
that close like caskets and hug like claws.

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