a hackneyed
trite
bromidic
phrase
we are become
we are become
we are
be
come
but, oh
shame
on you
shame on you
shame
on you
for making me
believe
for working so
hard
at making me
believe
for being
such
A Good Liar
your body
full of
Old Man Strength
your words
full of
Young Man Charm
yes
shame shame shame
on
you, Papi
you oh so Graven
image
my Death lies too
beyond that line
across that hill
down that road you
ride
to
ward
me
never so close
never so far
away
my Death rises
flat head hooded
Siddhartha's Cobra
an evanculous embrace
cooing me close with the
crook of each bend
my Death is
kinder than you
it has promised
Nothing
and shall deliver
All
just as it did
in Dachau
when your fingers
closed
so lovingly
so cravenly
around my
throat
At the End of the Day
At the End of the Day
At the
End
of the
Day
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