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Disorder
You may—I might—theywill—some ‘won’t’—just say:
“Living’s a walnut begging to be cracked!”
And if-or when-but why-sosoon-the impact
of such a soundstatement will hardly weigh?
on the forget- fret- fear-ful kind of gray
dispositions who dwell on the abstract
(no)tion of (this)regard or a(n/a)tacked
self sobbing in the corner of the day.—
Re—again—jected once one final more,
such spirits spurn the sense ‘security’,
to cling to cleaner, more clearly bonded
couplets.
But who when where better (core)responded
to that desperate pre-immaturity,
else than the ever further distant shore?
Copyright ©
X F Lacasse
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