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