All these dreams
They still persist
Even after my crude exorcism.
It’s so unseemly
They exist
Somewhere in reflex or optimism,
Behind my reams,
My pen, my wrist,
My highest tenacity or masochism.
All these dreams
They still persist
Even after my crude exorcism.
It’s so unseemly
They exist
Somewhere in reflex or optimism,
Behind my reams,
My pen, my wrist,
My highest tenacity or masochism.
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