by Sean Flynn
It鈥檚 been my pleasure
To know your names and faces
The crowds, weird and heavenly
Even though I鈥檝e fed friends bullshit
And disgraced myself with enmity
It鈥檚 still been my pleasure
Because it鈥檚 a privilege to be a part of the human race
To grow capacities to think for myself
And wrestle with counsels of joy and despair
Both of which astonish me with their lack of upper limits
Nevertheless, I won鈥檛 pretend to act without fear
Because I shy in my dark, conflicting days
I鈥檝e been in love with my quotidian,
And at times absolutely not
But the anaesthetic enters not into it
For it鈥檚 the palpable everythingness
Which has me sated, fat and stoned on Life
Quarryman
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