Precarious
Considering my semi-socio-pathological
solipsistic narcissism, misanthropic sense
of entitlement, grandiose attention deficient
restless legs syndrome and poor listening
habits: I've still managed to make the most
of these liabilities & move in moccasins
among the goodies with minimum collateral
damage, damnit.
A crime against the whirl, to sit still waiting
for Gödel—an offense to weed eaters,
ridiculous to administrators.
Who do I think I am?
What if every body did it?
Slow down with no end in sight,
no purpose,
aim,
measurable goal.
Crime of passion: unmoving violation--
every step I don’t take, move I don’t make.
Betrayal
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