passing fables down the table
like potatoes and green beans--
no one takes the last spoon full,
all eye last roll
and cross contamination comes when spoons are shared.
i feel so small when not allowed speech-- when not allowed answer--
when rutted in roots that mangle tangles of brainstem
and stream
from eyes to lies left from one perspective to another.
how are we real and why deal
with what we dealt when we can call one more
to bust--
to break, to bend, to push our luck till stuck
with empty pockets of worth.
smile blankly, love like blankets-- you are my soul
and know little
of my mind.
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