"Hey, wait! I have a poem coming to me!"
"Now??"
I found a home,
That's not a home,
My soul no place to rest.
My cohort was livid. "You idiot! We got dozens of Indians circling our wagons shooting arrows at us and you're writing a poem!"
"I'll lose it if I don't do it now."
"You'll lose your life if you do do it now."
"What is life without art?"
"What is art without life?"
I finished my poem but, sure enough, got struck by an arrow as my worldly reward.
"Goddam, I hate this planet."
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