who you were

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preordained conclusions

allow me some sky
to fly over myself
all the talking eyes
usurp paths around my fantastical places
I can’t hear myself think
here on the ground
the voices are too many
broken harmonies and
attachments to preordained conclusions
cannot be whipped away
by my threadbare occupation
I was meant to fix things
I’m a fixer
not lately though
my things seem to be pulling apart
flying overhead
my body and yours
will free my blocked salvos
kind salvos
because
I’m supposed to be deliriously dependable
even when my arms are tired
from all the holding
self-indulgences, you bet
because
I’m not all that decent
Karole