my grievous faults
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~for SJR1000~
the sun is out after a week of island fog,
(different from regular citified fogginess)
days seasoned with rapacious, hard hitting
all-night-long-rains, steady winds of
fifteen miles per hour, made “outside”unattractive,
yet, even now, sun inside with me, writing you
listening to Tupelo Honey, sets me awondering,
have you figured out how people work,
uncovered the source of human misery,
so we can get that vaccine asap, for something
a 1000 times more deadly than coronavirus?
my grievous faults, many, well catalogued,
but one of the chiefest is a side effect of a
virulent ego that cuts off vision, thoughtfulness,
letting good people slip away, and when called out,
I’m aggrieved, my faults, they wicked, embarrassing
so I’m asking, you, myself, anybody else, eavesdropping,
if this is true, for me, for you, you got the experience, if
”It don't make no difference
Escaping one last time
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness
Oh, this glorious sadness
That brings me to my knees”^
write me, enlighten me, and if the answers are
still a fugitive escaping, no matter, just way it is,
no pressure other than the sixteen tons of mining
life’s coal dust vicissitudes, its mysterious way of tilting
the scales, then escaping, side venting, through poetry
^ lyric from”Angel” by Sarah Mclachlan