Why must you stamp me out
with your cloven hooves?
You’ve rolled in the mud for far too long.
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.