I'm looking back
wondering what the fuck
happened?
Had-not snapshot captions
litter nothingness across my collective memory,
dripping concrete casts onto shards
of long, forgotten occurrences.
Anger festers on,
rotting away the fear.
I hear it roaring off in the distance.
Replaying xylophonic years
attuned to an instant.
My mother told me to give it to God.
I still haven't finished psalms
that have been written in my palms
since my fingers printed.
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