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It’s with great pleasure, feeling clever, dancing in your head. 

This clever fella, all tales and feathers, comes flapping, holding bread.

It’s in life’s silence, peeled like violence, we dine, on moments, dead. 

Convinced we never said the things we said.


Underground, under, found, underneath, his stead.

In hallways lit, and doorways split, with faces in my head.

The wind will wash away the thoughts, these voices left to tread.

Convinced I should have said the things I said.


If I lay down for you, drown for you, and let you bleed my head.

I fail myself, betray myself, belie the now, and then.

If I decry my feelings, dealings, stitching ego spent.

I make you king and lie within your needing crowns and hens.


I speak the way I speak because I can.


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