I dug a deep hole
to hold up a fence post today.

Held up with hardened mud
Was a re-bar
maze of cringes and shudders.

Concrete.
In stolen, steely kindred, killmonger, kinds of
courtship killings.

Let me make sure
that all my heart-spillings
is anything but truth.

Shove off,
and behoove
who should, whenever
they would
make a mind a sinful ocean-built
souls assuaged and sure of notions
held near the hilt
of our poison-bit dagger.

Lagging. And lacking
in age.
It's just a turn.
A turn of the page,
of the story of long-lived life.