everyday objects and events
described by quirky choices of words
like so many gears of a watch that was,
pieced together from mismatched models;
operating as designed, still not quite right.
Am i supposed to behold his profound insight?
Am I supposed to awake the buddha in my soup?
Is this wisdom, or is it an ink blot?
No, it's just a poetry assignment.
Billy Collins is somewhere out in Brooklyn,
never even aware of how much my professor admires him.
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