A Poem, in part

Clandestine, dangling by wire-thin strings - hungry.

Be good, start a fire.

Dare I scream or tear out my eyes?

In distress, blind

A stately, even saintly dance all over the whole fuckn' mess.

Email, number, phone - no one's home.

Weeping, the gnashing of teeth in the Bible of our times we pray and cast spells...

Dream, perform every drunken detail, neat.

Vows atop a funeral pyre.

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