fuck

It is the intrinsic, the inevitable, the
moment; gathered, assayed and waiting
she or he, us or them…they look on
approvingly as the word slides
indelicate and obtrusive, unasked for
fuck
the moment grows the silence like
a totality unclaimed, we, she, him, they
all cajoled into thinking into being
paradigms, platforms of humility of
pretentious palatability
fuck
the hordes, the masses unwashed
unashamed, mostly working mostly
unaware of deeper meaning, of
connection, that slim tenuous linking
of words to character
fuck
the few, the self-chosen, the harbingers
of the next and the next, they pronounce
and they provide; structure, limitation
conscription and containment in the
guise of social fortification
fuck
a wrecking ball of sub-verse compels by
simply being, the word, the word revolts
and reveals both thinness and concrete
revulsion, she, he, they, him, us, we
decry and defend
fuck
left better, worse, unaffected we
tell stories we forget soon, we motion
without remembrance but that word
that scar of informality left un-breathing
on the literary flesh
fuck
it is said, written, sung often and sporadic
it is angered by itself, it is old and new
used and forgotten…it separates and
includes singularly, without precedent
and always is just
fuck

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