An Imagist #poem Ruined The poet stared his quarry down, Felt sure it would relinquish It's essence (as per Ezra Pound), To start what he could finish. A glass of water on a shelf, Mundane, yet beautifully so. With the glass's gaze upon himself The words began to flow. The poet set forth with vigour and health, Struck paper with his pen. But the glass exploded, broke the shelf: Spontaneous combustion strikes again.
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Lucius Lannister
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Jack Richardson
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