Epistolarians become antique as copperplate and calligraphy
Museums of letters betray public reputations
with domestic dither and minutiae-
wars,poverty,belly-scraping difficulties amplify official texts
until letters overwhelm with legible evidence
all the Chapters of Lives passionately lived.Pages cannot contain
threads of relationships between intimates.Context contradicts
the myth of fiction.Every fact is a life stolen.
Every name has been changed/yet events resonate
as palimpset subtitling.Social media abbreviates to text
what was once flowers and gardens.Plans rather than buildings.
Script over performance.To know flesh and blood destroys distance
To be there makes lie of history,posterity,posthumous heroics.
Writers start blank,end in epitaph.Words strewn have Genesis in Exodus.
Pocket Bibles of belonging -to sustain each personal journey=journals/diaries.
These betray us.Contradict critics.Smear reputations.
Daily domestics defy heroics/deny Apollonian harmonies
They are the hard crust of scum upon the pond we drink from-
the empty well of inspiration/jars of sweat and perspiration.
Every writer has a real life.What you read is ever only one version.
To be contradicted by correspondence/later on...
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