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Why must you stamp me out

with your cloven hooves?

You’ve rolled in the mud for far too long.

Then,

artificial, simulated,

conventional wisdom popped

in my head

& no one formulated a response

to free my body from those stormy conditions,

deprived of secondary importance.

Spooky is your way, dizzyingly so.

Come back over: I have grown hoarse,

clutching your photograph,

screaming at your silence,

shuffling in place.

Come back & hold me to your breast

with absolution. Swing me around like jazz.

Destroy me for the purpose of

replenishing me.

Crush me in your arms & I will hobble with you

like a crippled, worn-out farmer.