wrung dry
to the rind
by which, be gone
and forgotten
rung, dry,
and hollow
hallowed only
by begotten times
long passed by-
the vitality economy
contrived of lines
putrid and generic,
of future merit
presently swindled 
poised, and nimble
to feast on sacral ambition,
to render numb, perspective,
the doom selected,
improvised regression
oh! me! oh, my possession
and owing deep
to some youthful fever dream
betrothed, then
upon the maker’s say
the greed of glory days
a ways away
from this,
the sit,
and stay,
rolled over in the
gravest sways,
belief besmirched 
in perversion
the kind that solitude
conclude truth,
and loose belted
and bellowed 
as mantra 
some shaman’s indecision 
derivative, and cryptic
and burdened, now,
to witness
the woeful wouldn’t be.

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