Beast

Poetry feels sometimes like an expiation
And yet with words of the near-past
I’d also been building debt
Is this all meant to bring us closer to being an animal
That is more right than man
Never in embarrassment, always knowing what to do
Or when I try here to create you
Am I really not using you as I use dusks or dust
To run away from writing what I cannot face:
Not human suffering, or even less of death
But a failure to want a change in my life badly enough
So that grey motes, sunsets, sin
Are only ghastly posters plastered on a wall of decay

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