Seemed to know nothing, whilst also knowing absolutely everything
Seemed to talk absolute rubbish, trite, whilst also settling himself down for a while so as to create the perfect line
Prepared ’til all of it might turn out just right
All in all, an organised mess who was able to take the time out to appreciate both what was good and what might just be bad
Able to place what might just be happy atop what was dreadfully sad
Always willing to leave the right kind of an impression, perhaps an artist who borrowed Van Gogh’s missing ear
Left himself forever open to wordly suggestion
A gladrags man
Ready to fly right in the face of adversity, become a prime and telling example of blind brilliance
Not so much perchance
Really any kind of a crutch will do
A steely as hell resilience which managed to make more than enough of his words dance
Of course, rancid could be okay too, rancid only in the best way possible
Dressing things up in relative slew, the kind that drew a thirsty, scholarly crowd who had always dreamt about amounting to something
Head up, face forward, a delightfully literary drawbridge created for the real writers out there
The real writer inside of you
Those few who really do matter, a perfect scatter, splattering of dialogue, togged out and ready to go with a most endearing flow
I don’t know, if not then maybe the editor is willing to put in the notorious hard slog
You see, my poet laureate, you do need to be all too prepared to pass that precious parcel

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