Saturday, January 31, 2015


"on our meat, and on us all"

I come from a body
That doesn't believe
In the future, beyond
What's already happened.

The body speaks well
Of the sufferings of being
A body, but only ill
Of being me. I, myself,

Forgive this degeneracy
As having been spawned
By all those generations
Prior to our nomenclatures

Of misery, to the future
Gone down dim millennia
Of recipients of the otherwise
Gone that happened.

I will read no more evil
Of the devil, of nothing
Worse than a prayer before grace
Falls like a wolf on us all.

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