I love poetry. It is in the oxygen I breathe, and in the blood that courses through me. We have so many means now, with which to create, express and share, that our poetry can cross any boundary.
I simply Google poetry, and I discover this poem, from a series called Art Journal, January 2011 (Day 23), Paper Poems.
Hamlet meditates agonizingly on his father's murder, and among his lengthy meditations is his musing about the nature of man. Lee Hynes, in visual poetry, offers his in a matter of lines.
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