1st degree psychoanalysis of a poet

in the ghetto of anticipation,
my expectations are dissolved.
i am happy to drift in the direction
the wind bends. somewhere
between here and there i fill my
pockets with some of this and
some of that. my freedom is
my prison. i have no reason to
escape my seasons, no desire
to be satisfied. i can justify the
moon executing the sun. my
scars are not obscured behind
tattoos of tranquility. i do not
seek protection for myself from
myself. this is an expedition of
my bohemian blood. every
word is precisely as it’s meant
to be. there is no remorse for
immaculate purity or profound
deceit. i am a mongrel that
sleeps with the enemy and the
divine messenger. tomorrow i
may be an outlaw virgin mary.

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