Monday, 3 April 2017

Day Two

Clench your fists around this thing,
This wild conceit (complacency-free)
Here throw it, with yourself, into
An unknown, unused vessel.

Mind your toes here, firming in the coarse earth
Yes it may chafe but see; your skin is raw
And clean and it can feel again.
There's the liberal juice of tears here.

Don't waste it. Don't let it sour.
You've been torn in strips and all chewed up
But still you sit, mouth watering, so
of that bitter soup.

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