A year for the undreamed

A year ago
I couldn’t tell you
the difference between the dream
and the dawn
the dreamed nor the dusk
I drifted to the toad licking the stone
handing my name as a goat
with a loaded knife to process it
I wore whiskey lace over my eyes
playing word chess
in an informal disciplinary that should never
have been visited, the lace got thick
my name had its throat cut
and dripped innocence and work ethic
I left with disgust dissolving on my tongue
a lozenge of bitter time
my sky looks better now
as better monkeys play here
with regret placed in the attic
to rest with memories
I would like to lose

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