Dragging
down, down
Far
beyond the last pavilion
Where
a wicker chair is
Rotted,
tumbled
Far
away, away
Passed
secret recesses
Dream
depots
Where I sing
A
Song of My Impotence
Before a curtain of mile high stone
They all knew I would not last long
He knew from the awful grimace
She from the swipe of her hand
On the frosted pane of glass
Mother and Father knew
From the genes inscribed
In me and him and her
A hieroglyphic missive
To awe and electroshock and SSRIs
And I know from his tics
His throat clearing
And the stuttering
Which only ended yesterday
Here: I tell him.
Here is
How you know
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