EXIT PLAN
I've minded these manners for 100 years,
with nothing to show for it now but old date
books filled with the complaints of whiners
and hacks. I can still see their faces, hovering,
like ghosted images seen late at night. The ones
who would complain, even in Paradise. Those
whose motherboard has always been loosely
connected : liars and apes and chimps and
twisters. Wrestlers with the Devil itself.
I finally said this to myself: 'put down
that pile of crap, place everything
ever touched down on the table,
get up, look around, and walk out.'
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