all evolutions,
revolutions
to absolution
by liquid?
can we drive always away away away
our sins that are burnt into our
skin?
Without the spillage of a
witness of wetness?
is my own sweat insufficient?
product of sunrise and rays
testing the body’s hydration,
my words beckon to reckon
to emerge,
purge my seditious sins,
my owned dissolution,
with false, half hearted acts
of contrivance contrition?
Why are
my daily confessions,
halved by inability
to give myself up a
full~on
fullsomeness,
but words available,
censored by a stub of
unwillingness
to embarrass
what little honor
left in my shrinking
possession
I am guilty of ******.
this act of admission
is legally insufficient
to sustain even
sky painted clouds
to cease moving,
there, it’s sad said,
and i breathe no easier
only comfortable that my
shame is openly accounted
for by you, my jurors…
