These trials of worthiness,
remarkable or not…
are plain as day…nonetheless.
If it were a drug the shaking less intense.
Feelings like a neglectful owner to common sense.
Normally a good runaway…would be in order.
Yet, the sneakers have gone since I put the blotter away.
Flashbacks of embryos on the floor.
With hatred always wanting more.
Pictures of sepia images bought with the beat of a leather strap.
All and none of the above, correct answers.
With the questions being all wrong…
a fifty year old swan song.