ANSWER ME
Staying with the werewolf at a
tiny spot in Bruges, nothing,
no place really at all. He wears
that hairy badge of love and lust,
it seems, everywhere he goes.
-
With that too in mind, I engage the
hearts to the matters of all I see
and hear. Flaxseed and wind-blown
alfalfa both, apart, together, one
as all things mesh and join.
-
I am OK - see - in this darkness,
sights full of images of my own miseries;
fueling my own dim fires. Why does a
spectator wish to see that in others - what
he could not bear in himself? Answer me?
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