Exposure
So I get my ass hard boot kicked straight out of hell entirely too early and as a fetus reforming
temper tantrum beg for more beatings.
Instead a new anything prevails.
Bright shades of Zeus’s spiteful boredom strike at me with hues of my orange childhood. Tangerine lunch pail slices. Jungle gym paint chips. No. 2 dull.
I am undone.
No Dorothy to gather the straw.
Slapped funny,
slut stunned,
reeling to a new neurotics confederacy
and I am told,
very difficult to be around.
My side ached from god nat flicking my evolution across years and space and geographic cruelty,
with pure untainted and absolute void behind me.
I ape movie act in the sand, convinced the governor’s call couldn’t signal a god damned thing.
I am freed.
The collective Hecker birds scatter at the word of my release and
I am in power and I am alone.
The great spirit of manic beauty and petty abusive restraint had left me; she was gone without warning or explanation.
I stared slack jaw stunned as I sat alone like a peasant in the town square who awoke to realize the brutal occupying army pulled out the night before.
But there was no V-day parade.
Just an overwhelming sense of exposure.
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