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letting go of one

By Arthur Karbowski

the truly bad are sent West, past the edge. i imagine
     solidified VHF snow.

naughty souls that aren't bad enough to be sent West
     are forced to live the ten years of twelve to
     twenty two.

the good are sent to occupations they will love
     eternally on the paradise planets of the
     fringe.

i've only worked a few times. for movement the
     BigBeat it is.

when i melt i tend to live a different life. Bill
     calls it love. i know it's my dirty little pet
     looking for soft and easy. i wish i could feel
     it too.

it has been suggested to me that i start some, and,
     further in the main, end some.

for those of us that lack lexicon:
     Suggestion -- a subtle command.

my perceptions have been coaxed to the revelation
     that the noun 'use' applies to many and more
     than the most obvious. i hate finding that i
     have more yet.