into the abyss,
i’m trudging further.
under a curse,
i travel in fervor.
whispering prayers,
useless murmurs,
filthy film from
pursed lips perverse.
i am conscious,
i am aware,
i strain my stream
of vision there,
but i know i cannot
hope to dare
to make sense of what
can never compare.
what can’t be bought
by blood or sweat,
something i need,
i can never get,
like a dog always sent
to go, to fetch,
and by a motion feigned,
sent over a ledge.
down to his death.
-m.p. 10/8/2015
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