Write to pieces

It’s right to please but write please
To just one person, imaginary you
Says the poet of the dark mustache.

But for now since W.W.2 mustache
No longer twirls in this wide world,
We may not please him enormously.

Please ourselves in his imagination,
Not in the wide web world  window
Where we may catch a pneumonia.

Nothing pleases the imaginary you
Within  fears of a world’s drying up.
Stanzas breaking, words disappear.

But since you are largely imaginary,
Your words hardly matter to world.
Be that person to please by words.

Which seems practical thing to do
To avoid pneumonia at the window
And be all of piece as maker made.

By a riverside mirror you look great
Till whole river breaks to its pieces
And pieces no longer make a whole.


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