Two Solitary Epistles

To my excessively credulous and quixotic friend,

Heed not

The words of men

When they’re begot

By tongue or pen

In the company of others

For their sisters, friends, and brothers.

Man plays

The part of man

When spending days

With specious fans

Who will cheer his charlatan affectation

But he bears not the part in isolation.

Sincerely,

Solitude

***

To my slightly sillily cynical sister, Solitude,

I will follow your counsel fanatically

And list your words—as is my way—romantically,

So thus I heed them not—the sons of a pen—

But leave their fruit rot, as you demand, kind friend.

Love,

Love