Scratch
and shake
and break
these arms
that hold all
there ever was.
Watch
and take
and sate
the scantily-clad
urges of bygones,
not so forgotten.
I’ve been looking
for
a means
of escape
from this
hand held nightmare.
I’ve been looking
for the slightest
mention
of a life
less caustic.
Searching back pages
of periodicals worldwide.
Searching the soul
I might not have.
Searching
and destroying
my mind,
a scimitar
of perversion.
Incising
with scalpel-like
precision
into the very taproot
of a solemnity
I have yet
to find.
The bulky blade
trembles,
much too large
for such
a delicate
operation
and I start
to wonder
if that
has always
been the problem.
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