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Threadbare morals
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Sweet dreams will fly away – Where. Now. Is.

Anger, then helplessness
ramming retreating remembering
pushing falling losing
shaking trembling fingers.
Drinking again
Doing the wrong thing in whose eyes?
Where is this right path of righteousness?
Can I find it in interwoven dreams?
Wearing re-washed faded shredded fabric and
threadbare morals,
needles of masochistic ambition zigzagging towards patches of light
they prick leaving pearls of blood for less inspirational fringes
frayed fond useless cast-offs
to waste
to dump
to fill
new apartments and a new life
built on those clothes we are no longer wearing
favorites with nothing but holes left
I was 14 years old when I wore that nightgown
now faded flannel polishing cloth
used to wax the car

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