Brain Injured Fuck

A ghost of himself walking,

able to touch, to smell, to see,

to experience life, sensually.

This cheapens the life, teases

the mind.  If only a little more or

perhaps  a bit less…no questions

asked, no assumptions made.

A lukewarm hell, a glimpse of life,

an experience cheapened by

the vicarious means with which

it is seen.  Knowing is what is more.

A poet he is and has become

A watcher, a purveyor of truths

denied. So fitting to be alone.

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