Another short poem I wrote one day. As usual, I barely remember writing it. And as usual, it comes off as pretentious as hell, but ah well. When you write, you write.
--
Bag over the head, outside, inside, outside...
Probable plane or left-winged lane to
The exact place few exactly know.
They, with Their capital T and ironed clothing,
Remove the bag and, seated uncomfortably,
Drain all my thoughts from my slots
And cackle vaudevillian finesse.
I plead, but where one man falls two men do not.
Wife, children, family, friends.
My card will say 'no show' and
Into nothing I go.
Shows the difference of the times.
Various Williams feared little, as there was too much to fear.
I fear all with my reasonable amounts.
Particularly in unexistence. There lies a
True end.
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