even science was born there
though he long ago moved to the city
but if you have a heart
you have an art you are an artist
and since everyone has a pen
and a piece of paper
but not everyone
has a trombone
or canvas and oils
poems proliferate
while sonatas for the
trombone and galleries
of masterpieces languish
but the poem dwells
in the possibility of surprise
in the land of everyone
known now as heart
discarded heart
writing itself down
as if on stone
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