on the high wire, too far gone for one to see,
lately, my fantasy life’s
bit into chains. Le Ordre d’Compose ain’t calling.
Well, I never wanted to set it out before which. I’m a flexible man
in a storm. Give me the unexpected, these horrors
won’t do. Which where I’ve got nowhere yet over in over
sixty years; and that life was the cream. I mean
the mental life; the one says you feel this, now here’s this,
now you feel that. And I do, I’m sorry to say
I’m a worthless, crawling motherfucker.
2 comments:
You've become quite the poet;I'm almost envious. But it's your prose that blows me away...
You've surely become quite the poet,
I almost envy you.
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