Reading two poems in less than five

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Reading two poems in less than five

 comes naturally to me.
Why not? I kiss my wife
in less than five, I burn no more than six
in prayer each morning, spend
(at most) eleven, ten, 
to sit and just be still. I pencil in
from five to seven lines before I wind
up crumpling all my work, no more than five
deciding if you, stranger, are worth my time. 
This life runs fast—keep pace.
But what if it's a walker's race?

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