I’ve an uncle who builds houses
and he tells me I don’t write poems
that what I write is vile and useless
not good for anyone.

There was a time I believed him
his words allowed crippling all mine
until I saw a word’s a board
each nail succeeding nail.
Something comes even if quite small
and finds shelter there.

For more poems and other stuff, check out: donyorty.com/blog/2012/04/19/from-a-few-swimmers-appear/

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