Another Pile of Shit

I am not my poem, I am not my words,

I am a spiritual entity, manifested in physical form

My work is my excess, my glorious fodder;

my spiritual shit. Glorious though, some of this shit may

be, it is but a glimpse of the awesomeness of being;

the untold presence felt when near; the jowel shaking

laughter and the moments of joyous reverie; the frustrated

“what-the-fuck” when I, often, act a fool.

I am complicated, I am real, I am Kyle

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