And the fear is an endless thing
Spelled out with the first letters from all the lovely names
Twisting uncomfortably back into memory
With a pointed, corkscrew tip
And so ruined
Ruinous?
Ruined.
That I don’t know if any of its smeared curves
Are forged of the real or the false
So rapt
Ensnared by the wonder of it
I carve and scratch a listless evening away on paper
Twisting uncomfortably back into memory
With a pointed, corkscrew tip
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