“Excused”

if i can control much longer

the anger

slit a duck

send forth blood in the mail

HIV for tender babies

i slime my own intestines through your window

the sill is where you land

soft landing

harder to rest

harder at first

harder once the crest breaks through the sheen of stupidity

laid my way

 

all in all i think i might not know how long it were to be other than some place that i once knew, knowing slowly, that, too, to be so slow is not abhorrent, inherently, but, obscene, in instance? of course… too strewn the tide than a shrewd bat would wink at me but filter the thought; and so, so, and so–I wonder–do I still? am I yet? capable? adulterous? the manhunt behind the scenes in my autumn’s thick rife slit over and the springs in the mattress sound off OFF to go some other direction yet

I still wonder why, so long ago, there could not have been any younger youth than the obscenities cast my direction. So long, young child, you were burnt alive in the house your mother built with her milk. The song is not for dance, yet, but alive, one might find somber intelligence somewhere nearby, just laying around. Or so I might think.

So soon, too, the atmosphere in space where we see through the twinkles and dust of atomic shrouds that too little too late tell us, alone, alone, how are you? How are you, alone? In atom in confounded way, some bankers want your wallet some old friends want to say Hi, some bitter rivals want you down.

I’m always down.

But butterscotch recipes and avocado diversity train doesn’t melt. I’m no stranger to anger. This stillness in recipe, fondness for nothing more, won’t yet leave my  indecision and the acerbity from family directed in my general–no, more specifically, straight into my skull.

I am lost without them.

So I see I have been betrayed. Some younger youth would want to thank me, in some direction, possibly, without betrayal. Without that. But no, so said the jaguar: Cometh unto yourself the passion, withdrawal, passionate withdrawal, stranger, things, can’t, seem, to want to , go, in, mis-any hit direction want you to say that again(St.) the name of the opponent you shall remember… always.

And now I cry at the realization that I have worth.

Excuse me.

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