I was born to Dead-End!
A ‘Full Stop’ to an otherwise fertile line of ancestry.
A seedless apple
in a busy, blossoming orchard of growth and re-birth…
stuck inside my very own desert.
I can afford to buy the best perambulator in town,
but, will never actually need one…
that’s a lightning bolt to my pride and peace of mind
which I never fail to feel the terrible shock of.
I have stopped frequenting Public Parks
on warm, sunny afternoons… it’s simply torture.
Beaches, in the Summer months, give me soul-vertigo
and bring on desperate urges to self-harm…
the false gateway between my spiteful legs,
the quagmire of my futility, that bastard, impotent thing
which brings me pain instead of pleasure
which I can prune and piss through… but, never actually farm.
great!
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