Trails I've known, trails I've yet to know. What's up? This mountain in me no woman needs to scale. Nothing happens behind the barn we do not secretly want to happen, is one way to see it. How many more summers stumbling around drunk, pissing in moonlit shallows? The risk was always falling, and eventually I did fall, and later yet - under the watchful eyes of a Mother Cat God - landed. The answer, basically, is fuck Hamlet. Plans now to visit the beachside condo of inner peace. I helped you recognize yourself, can I please have some time back for the chickadees? Turning the meat. Hips grinding. Cul de sacs are forever, don't kid yourself. Invitations to visit, invitations to depart, and the comma in between them. What do we not want others to see? For example, the handwritten letter you've been carrying in your heart for lifetimes - who said they'd sign it but didn't and who signed it without knowing what it said? Complicity. Possession and the past. The Queen will see you now and other announcements for which I was not born ready, had to handle on the fly, make up as I go, still.
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