Against Which Poem by Michael Ryan
Against Which
habit smacks
its dull skull
like a stuck bull
in a brick stall
and my version
of what I know
is like eye surgery
with a backhoe
on grace
so much beyond
my pitiful gray
sponge of a brain
I'd not believe it exists
except for such
doses of felicity
as this.
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5/6/2024 12:27:42 PM # 1.0.0.1119
