the message I've awaited for years
coming just when I go to the toilet--
the vocation poleaxed by the fate that assures my failure
a carcass picked clean by the wind--
the aspiration short-circuited as my effort to attain it
watches empty-handed as the opportunity is snatched away--
even if this collapse opens a way out and renews my will--
to easily fumble and to surely fall
Content (c) 2008-2010 Philip Milito.
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