Ode to John

I must relax, sneeze, scratch,
write a bit
about problems, and not try to solve
them but mystify them, construct
a cobweb full of strange roads

and thoughts
to keep the reader satisfied. It is not
about answers, it is all about questions.
Why did John Keats drink claret?
Ode to John.

Perhaps the claret opened rivers,
streams, waves of blood finding
new ways to think, the delicate hands
holding a glass.
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