i must have expressed before
in the spill of pub table ash
corralled by spent matches
maybe
or
on a paperbacks flyleaves
left in a green field
i thought was a cold steel rail
how i cant tell
zen from madness
or
denial from a medical high
& how the rub & nub & oomph of it
is if it really matters
but i am sure of this -
i still find it poem
to difficult an end well
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