that voice again pipes up, howls at the suggestion of a moment's silence why so vicious you might take softer approaches instead of the hammer, a knife, the furnace of contempt that burns away what might have been otherwise a flower or a song i control the tempo and temperature of my response i give it flavor gauge progress by shifts in volume and frequency it grows quiet for two or three days then i tend to violate any fragile truce ought to see it coming by now
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Poems from Other Days
September 2021
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