Taking A Bite Of The Unabated

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I can’t recall poemin’ about the orphanage
(wards of the state are prone to dropping Gs)
and please stash the solicitude and sympathies
as decades have washed the Dickens out of trespass,

mine or my minders, now minor memories like those
adolescent alterations that would seed pop when
smoking weed in an alley off the bar that would olé
counterfeit credentials to consume some puerile punch-

ing down was a problem as I was teen tactic sans any
strategy as I never allowed gravity to yank the rebel
to pause.-because the present was a gift of catch-up with
a past, and… the possible, both conjecture. No grace there.

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