DIM-WIT / BROKEN ALBATROSS
That's me you see going over the
edge. Smashed wings, broken-fingered,
all without hope. Not even a bucketful
of sugar could sweeten this mess. I am
outside the point of standing, past where
I should be, along a fitful back alley
of something else, leaning on a
railing, gazing out to sea :
the broken albatross,
that's me.
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