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A Disjointed Way to Truth
A beautiful infection, this addiction,
a child I don’t whip
now to chase later. I
ride on a lemon smile
with a brain of sponge.
I watercolor people. I paint
my future with fog. I
color with White out, concealing
my soul, gloating in muck, not
knowing gold dust from diarrhea.
My arms rise with traces
of crimson, knife-edges of indigo.
I become a rainbow then
wash off or run in
clear rain. I rest between
rounds. I vow to quit.
But making a vow is
like changing a diaper. It
repairs the moment but doesn’t
provide a permanent fix. I
despise solitaire, but I play
it, so I hijack the
unnatural, this addiction I just
can’t kick, my addiction, my
darker, disjointed way to truth.