X Is Change

Transfer delayments crook open the door to next
An abstract language game who doesn't have teeth
To connect to the watch's design, intricacy is ungeared
And won't tell you the time is nigh or past
As inter-anythings make the world go sideways

But my niche is inside a skull that I hope isn't
Punctured for a long time, or is it;
Moneyed interest in the external might
Lead this one first person to peer out
Into a wilder wideness and narrow other
Than between the ears

Foolhardiness? Is that commerce? I don't know;
I will need to write a few thousand more
Poems to be sure, complete with some rhyme,
Flavored with sweat, grime, and enjamb
ments, discontent to merely write and thus
I continue to seek the word that goes:
Write : Writer :: ???? : Poet

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