but i know not what it could be as i shuffle (everyday
i'm shufflin') and pander to my prescription life.
i'm following your directions to the letter of the
ignoble law; and the passions of my heart churn
beneath my scarcely-kept image of compliance.
if death visits so many a year at the gnawing gnashing
teeth of a surly hippopotamus, how many sinners
does it take to notice my paradoxical penitence?
and if the meditations of my heart are less than
honorable--if i was a brutus in disguise--would you
see in me the festering wound of an intrinsic ill?
it isn't what makes you happy--no it really doesn't
make me happy. but the time of the metal swingset
pulls me back into childlike acceptance of this life.
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