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"God, How Mary Knew Her Monsters"  by Joe DiMino

Sadly, the greatest architecture,
Artists, poets all seem of
The past; apparently we modern
Too fast, trading
Molds for carved marble,
Acrylics for oils,
Slow drying adding substance
Is thoughtful canvas
(“Wanted, lover without a hurry!”
The Heart-sign read)—
As is the rush of the keyboard
Away from tactile impressions
Like the pen,
Gone the feeling pressures
To soulless evenness—
God how Mary knew
Her monsters!

One could argue
Something for spontaneity,
But the true writer
Knows the novel
In a great page
As the painter
Senses the painful fruition
When, at last,
Is delivered

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