Forgetting is Optional
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.