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What poet does not write about broken windows? For no literary thunder-birds…minus wings, cannot go without a dabble in the deep archaic ancestry of bad thoughts, for too long. I suppose it is the backdrop to what most people only dream about…having a chance to ‘lick the wounds.’ Course, that leaves one’s words up to interpretation. Which is a side of writing…most people, the writers, despise.

If I could keep these militant mutations in…

Certainly,

I would.

I have punched out the windows

They have left

Now

Now

Only the excuse of see more glass

remains.

So, I force a stop

So

So

Only the beguiled

understand

the

refrain.

I am left with wood

I am beholding to dust

I am behind reflections broken

shame

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Mother wishes to keep you in

Father demands to keep you a waif

Sister is but sly and in due course, subdued

Brother smitten with the walking shoe.

I am shattering glass

I am only the middle class

Swollen on virtue

Deluded with false pride

I am Route 66

minus

the ride.

American made

stamped a glossy flag.

The eyes of a house

no trespassing, no wanting

nowhere to hide.

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