The Spoken Word
He had no real polish to speak ofTo him
Eloquence required more practice than it was worth
“If the words don’t sing themselves off paper,”
He would chide
“They have no business being there in the first place”
(Go figure)
Yet
Listening to him speak his stuff
Felt like maple syrup and melted butter
Sliding off a stack of hot pancakes
You knew he didn’t want to be there
If it weren’t for folks like me
He’d have had no reason to show up
Let alone read
How our applause would plead for the Master to continue
Reluctantly
His sense of professorship relented
To the sheer poverty of our need
Truly
Here was a performance poet in spite of himself
And I
Another privileged student
Yet to graduate from his school of invisibility
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For Paul
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John Christopher 1993
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