WE DON'T NEED THE CATACOMBS
Fledglings leave the nest at three
and seldom come home again. We
certainly don't need catacombs to
be living this life. I struggle along
at night, hiding like a stranger, to
entice. Myself. Hunched. Against.
Some. Awful. Something.
-
I have no predeliction for want
or horrible envy. In fact, outside
of what's needed, I want nothing
at all. The girl with the flashfire
dress, the guy, strapped to the corner
in chains, the policeman's fat belly,
whistling at rest 'till he's into his
seat, they hold nothing for me.
-
I just left. I am outside
of categories now.
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