WHEN I HATE MYSELF
The call-letter tags are miraculous,
and I have entered that dark door
again: It leads to more darkness
alone and I so hate ever this now
fully-expanding place. As over
me it looms again.
-
I can't knock, but I can't un-knock
either. The door opens, but then
swings shut in my face. I am
lost like a father in a memory
of a boy he once has had, or a
job he took on speculation, and
then never made a cent.
-
Origins are all contrariwise to
reason, and I do not know where
to turn - these fence lines are
but inertia, and I dare not move.
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