On the warpath
with nothing sacred left:
the high ground
the Heimlich
the wear and tear
of highway miles.
Outgunned:
to love
without having
to be in it.
It's vexing
something fierce
rest assured
like inducing climax
despite your prescribed
medications
yet these charlatans say
there's no magic left.
Gutted
we wear
the innards of our ruins
festooned like garland
of the damned
and I can't carry
the Big Sad
any more.
You're far more tame
and trustworthy
than those who walk
undiagnosed, my dear.
I saw lightning bugs
for the first time in years
and wept.
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