Janus Estuaries Vol. 3, 1.23.24 “SWALK"
I am not a good man, but I am trying Not for the impending fear of dying Of that final rest laid lying I’ve written letters full of letters To my worse and to my betters Yet all that shines upon my heels is fetters I am not a man of pride To many, though, I’ve lied This simple fact, I cannot hide How many dead, how many hurt? Can any man, of this be cert- And when conjured, my beaten brow grows furt- If I’m making any progress In cleaning up this littered, lettered, fettered mess No earthly signs of showing any better, unless… More than I develop conscience Obtain a cricket and read the news prints Form a pact and kinship to social imprints Do my rightly attempts to amend my wrongs Appeal to me and the masses throng? Shall it stave off the noon-tide gallows’ song? Let there be a word, somewhere amongst the pages creased Best if borrowed, lent, or leased For only ill will come, whence all is ceased
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