And over, and in:

and with, and since:

that last time I came down past this way:

over a border: around a corner:

and into a land lost in its own self discovery.

A land devoured on the principle of Saturn:

an acquired taste – or so, it’s said:

the discreet delicacy of eating one’s own children, limb by limb.

And all the Praise-Jesuses and all the lines of credit

and all the little thank you gifts

don’t stand up to shit

in the face of

a chance encounter

with a wild child

pointing an AK-47,

eyes rolled back

sniffing glue:

Front Mechant.

I rifle through my bag, unable to find

the Valentine’s Day card

that I bought

to make up

for all I had tried

to say

and do

and failed.

— Saint Valentine’s Day, 2010

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