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Like salad cream, I don't like it, but some without taste might.
By way of an explanation, offered because some might prefer to misinterpret the point; salad cream is the substance I picked because it's popular with the masses, but it lacks something genuine, something real. It tastes of little that we associate with real food, unless - of course - we are satisfied by the mass-produced artificial taste.
This poem, style-wise, will be popular with those who like short sharp pieces that make them think they are thinking about something. It will please them because it's not too taxing. For those who like their poetry with more realism, it lacks that genuine element.
Last edited by Pete_C : 05-10-2008 at 04:57 AM.
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