perhaps my collapsable thought process lacks

a fine tuned taunt piano wire adaptable

enough to be up to snuff to be sharp and insurmountable

and I’m no longer able a cripple put out of stables

to fields where I’m a layabout not much of anything anymore

my self loathing abhors me and is keeping score when

I look at that cane across my couch and let it

lay there looking at me judging not enough to pick a better

disability I’d rather have a better me than being

brought low by this crooked back and brow furrowed

by decades of decoding history trying to

dig deep and think of all the

shit I’m knee deep in nothing  worth swimming

a prim and proper disaster that’s brimming with

paying the dime for admission

for my spinal-coaster roasting up my living



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