No standard inflection.

There is something sublime about sharing poetry until one o’clock in the morning. I don’t get to do it often enough. Those lines which birthed us into adulthood still cradle deep moments of “Ah.” Read a poem aloud. It draws in the walls of a room and ignites the human spirit. Oh, the art of that line, that still true observation, how each word dangles in the air! The archaic and modern hold their own within the post-postmodern, and the great poets preside lightly in their aural monarchy.