I steal everything.
Every thing I find
interesting I keep.
And I confess,
it is crowded and cluttered
but I am still collecting
all the things I like.
That stuff that was already here
when I got here,
all the stuff
and all the stuff in the stuff
is never enough
I still want more...
For I am warning you
to guard what you show me,
I might (definitely) steal a glance
and there is a more than (likely) chance
that I have stolen all these words-
certainly someone has found them,
used them,
thought them
before me.
Before me, it was all ready there
waiting to be found
and unforgotten
lying around like antique truths
until some one
like me
re-members them,
and re-collects them.
Paraphrased for portability,
praised for poetic quiddity,
too, you know-
nothing you do is new
everything you say
has been said another way
and in brief
I am a thief
but on that note,
don't (Ms.) quote me
with words I never wrote.
Image of painting by Charles Joseph Grips [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, entitled 'Opportunity makes a thief', (1875).
