Confessional

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confessional 3bi

I can’t help that

The suffering is sticky.

 

I can’t help

The sheer keyboard

Of playing with the smelly

Pipes of nature.

 

I can’t help it if the pits

Are where the pleasing employee

Of the writing mines

Should be.

 

It’s all custard now;

There’s no drink

My ears haven’t consciously turned to:

Pitchers of necessity.