no one would believe
how often we work
to self deceive
like an old king
on his tarnished throne
talking about all his hang ups
on the telephone
where he hangs his coat
the crocodiles in
the moat you could
not cradle your head
full of inhibition
wrapped with strips
of old skin
hung up and hanging
wounded and staining
the wooden landscape
the papered walls
tilting kudzu covered
garden stalls
not touched since the 1970s
stuck on a post
a dried and rotting vine
trials and tribulations of wrong choices
made over time
but costs, all or most
eventually recovered
without choice
run aground voices
being hung up
all the time
(sigh)
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