The Plagiarist

Welcome to National Poetry Month, everybody!

The Plagiarist

Worlds lie bare

before the intellectual

the pen moves but

slow before the thoughts—

easier still to drift

into another night sky

and pluck the stars

for pocket-borne

pages academics

snare and preen

with words of ascension

no thought to the have-been

only the where-to

no acknowledgement

for services rendered

merely an old book

full of new stars

on which the autograph

is still drying.

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