Revolver

I don’t like this
whimsy poison
winding me back
stealing away my

best weeps
with miles and miles
of tape telling me
it’s already done
weep no more
weeping is

so unoriginal
so work
on your crocodile
cry on your croquet
set on your crooked
smile
wind the reel
nothing is
when films run out

all the incredible
villains and heroes
their identical chiseled faces
all the intangible kinds of
evil shades of kindness

my plain-sight blindness
I dont like this
whimsy poison
making my present
hell wishing
I were some
where else
some
one who fell
from heaven
to trick you into
trying to
be saved
handle you with care
but break you
in a pony-fence
while I prance
a parade around
the fires I made

trying to win back
the lackluster winter with
summer snow

thinking about
meeting the maker
before I’m made
still born
I’m still becoming
born

It’s still so hard
to see where i am
when i am

spinning.

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