I'm speeding through the school zone, skidding past
The upper end of BMIs while lines
Meander (with a lazy notion, massed
In public and in my cabeza): signs
Of stanza life. Is this improved, this crowd-
Sourced souring on the corpus populi,
Or is this verse a clever sneer, a proud
Self-drama, just a grinning effigy
Excusingly effaced? I must be thorough:
The poem I kill in jest still dies in earnest,
And plows past puffy crowds; they burrow
Along the asphalt, raise the earth, the sternest
Among them waving cars to slow and verse
To rhyme, while children waddle in reverse.
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