Fiction

Some wonder
From where the ideas come
I just smile saying, “Life.”

I write from my heart
Daily experiences sometimes colliding with coincidence
To create a poetic fantasy
Masked in the lie of reality

Sometimes friends will ask
If a poem is about them
I can only answer,
“If you believe it so, I guess it is.”

But I don’t know
For interpreting poetry
Is so intensely personal
And figuring a poet’s muse
So insanely impractical
My answer more a dodge
Than confirmation of their
Perspectives

Read the poems
Take something away, hopefully
Something good, something enjoyable
But don’t read yourself
Into the words
The coincidence of the familiarity
Does not indicate any causation,
On my part,
To place anyone
Where they are not expressly mentioned

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