No apologies for merging with the stillness,
no regrets for eating the sun.
No tears for a broken heart,
no recompense for a broken brain.
No recognition or awards for greatness,
no publicity for mediocrity.
No affection for privacy panels,
no love for ignorant neighbors.
No sympathy for Georgie Reyers,
no condemnation for Lucien.
No reason will be given for this lousy pretend poem,
no explanation for sudden clapping of hands.
sapphoq doing "more"