I wrote a poem last night. My assignment was to recreate Bertolt Brecht's (1898-1956) simple style and mundanity with a work all my own. Read it out loud; it rhymes, and lets you sound a little like
Colonel Klink. A weird fantasy, no doubt, but one I know you often entertain. Weirdo.
Verguegungen des Alex
Die Frischluft des Morgen,
In einer
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