this correction

facilitates a new direction

a spawned erection

to taint the taste of innovation

so invocate my ways and dance on the head of a pin

don’t placate me or I’ll stop coming in

even if its a waste of grace and time

I’ll go blind before I stop trying

perennial injections of this misdirection

each each action has an opposite


and I’m resurrected at the moment I’m passing

the flask to the next me experimental effigies of

me myself and I don’t want to try

when I can’t walk a mile

how can you even know I’m alive

and I taste the take that I’m talking

and drink in where I’m walking

then pause till I’m sulking

disastrous enemies of me are my feelings

and tears that won’t come are brought low

by this intersecting skin peeling


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