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By John I. Blair

When inspiration's hot, it can strike hard,
Lure me to jot down the clever word,
Seduce with the perfume of verbal excess,
Persuade me I am a modern bard.

Tomorrow, in cooler afterthought,
Or under the lash of a well-meaning friend,
I may wonder what I was thinking of
And marvel at the crap I've wrought.

But sometimes I have to follow my star,
Dance toward the light at the end of the tunnel
And just play chicken with the chance
That it's not the beams of an oncoming car.

2003 John I. Blair  

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Name: Louise Engel Email:
Comment: John#comma# I#apos#ve not read any #quot#crap:#quot# that you have wroght#comma# only very moving#comma# appealing poetry.



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