and why shouldn't you be upset with me!
me, a scabrous leper of vitriol?
a tiny speck of blood in the yolk of the world?
our worlds whom grasp for and at each other but adorn slippery fingers
wet from our sadness and bulwark…
a nervous dissention of opinion
a taciturn image of a merry go round pier
half fallen into the grinning abyss
which is open like a closet door in a slumbering child's night
with smells of piss and burnt cedar
The whimsy of ultimo Thule?
all seeing eye
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