Every story is a lie
And mine as much as any.
I find myself honing it
The way rodents hone their teeth,
Knowing it won't stop growing,
Will cut into my own mouth,
Disable me and kill me,
Unless I'm always gnawing,
Gnawing, gnawing on the world.
The urge to sharpen story,
Keep it filed, surely explains
The greater part of hunger
For the dangling wires
Surging with electric death.
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