Forgetting is Optional

I-I-eyes crossing,

What am eye anymore?

Am eye my own best friend?

Worst enemy? For sure.

Am eye looking through a door,

to see what’s nevermore? are ewe

shearing sheep and searing

flesh, addressing these concerns

through rotten cotton?

Not forgotten, not forbidden,

somewhere between admittance and

rejection, seeing ewe,

distorted, thwarted by a plague–

a plaque, a headstone on

your wholesome, lonesome grave.

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