Wednesday, January 27, 2016


Witted but less grasp of the procession,
I've learned the shuffle of the sentiments,
I have them all, their access, I'm trained.
I'm highly trained, even, and it was dim 
to have given power to liking you less
than all the things you have given me rise to,
all at night, fluid glide through my ages,
I take nights and reduce you,
slick compote, the tang of decay,
begins with its tapping on my teeth.

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