MY KINSMAN, MAJOR MOLINEUX
Though now is the distinction between
me and the rest : I ladle my sadness in
buckets of woe and can't shake it. There
is light and retrieval, yes., but even then
the old constructs sag. A couch-doctor
would have me down to talk, but I'd
refuse and sit instead, for these thoughts
cannot be coddled or tempered by care.
-
Profiles? Documentation? The drawn
map of where I am going? Please, please,
it is only heading downward, to where
the land re-enters itself, the rivers all
disappear, and the underground
chambers are all peopled with ghosts.
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