my latest manuscript
burns a luscious hole
in my conscience, freezes
the bottom of my virtual
drawer as it should, and it
was meant to be
this way, it can be
no other way, there is
no way but this way
for I need to stay put,
suspended, torn well
by glorious self-doubt
yet still typing to keep up
with the sun and see my
casket unbuilt as a tree
- - -
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