One thing is certain
I was standing on the edge of something
A mountain climbing decision
Fire or water earth or sky
I had a rope but what I needed
Was not at hand I Ching
Dice Dial-a-prayer
Ting went the bottom of the cup
The sound of my coin as he howled out
Baby I was born to run…
He’s on that corner every day Irony
Taste in my mouth
I’ve bitten my lip
As I often do now I’m bound to repeat
This self-mutilation (or the slow beginning of it)
Throughout the day
What was the insight pressing my teeth so tight
Upon my tongue? I was certain the moment of clarity
Would be less painful but as the tug between
Knowledge & Language
Contracts & advances
I continue along the street with a bad song knitting & hooking
Itself inside my well insulated head.
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