• Vol. 06
  • Chapter 03
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The drop of a ring-pull on the pavement outside
is subjugated by the manic stevedore
hammering at the inside edge of my ribs.

Intentional smothering of my face as I cried
Into the pillow sends booming right to my core
Rattling foundations of puerile self-fibs
We use to anchor our sanity
To what’s left of our humanity.

It is only a matter of time, a short ride
on Merry-go-round Animadversion before
life’s passing glamour falters, as will my grip.