the question is
would anybody read
a catalogue of your sins
of your dumb pleasures and conceits
your mistakes and odd passions
years after you pass
the question is
does it matter to record
the sad passings of the heart
to put them down
to let them go
of course letting them
vanish is
as important
as any task --
the question is not who we want to win but who we care about
the question is how to become black again
what happens when you don't back up your claims?
the question is how, why, whom… the question
remains there like a lingering antibody
the question is: to have sin? Or escape from it
the question is the answer
in a fervor, hands clutching gold, one wants heartbeat
one wants fame, wants reason, wants glory
wants simple heartburn, wants reason
the heart wants what it wants which is to go
to remove oneself from here
to reach out, to climb, to grow
the vine is a master, the slave is a cold-calling coward
the man is a master, here and now, strong and roaring, alive and
livid, ripening, growing
the man can mend himself, the man can grow, the man can do
whatever it is he sets his mind to
The man is self-talk therapy, the man is
getting better, indeed
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