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8:24 a.m. - 2005-09-28
Poem Rant
Grace makes me nervous, seething around the edges of everything I know to be true. Insinuating itself into the musty vacuum of conditional love in which I grew like a dust mote, challenging those voices professing my best interest to be vigilence, barbed wire for veins and hard, hard work, preferably meaningless. Anesthesia handed down like an heirloom. The blindness of earning one's keep. Grace lists me towards the Shepherd. Haunts days braced with steel. His whisper, all but imperceptible among unspoken expectations lying useless as wisdom teeth rooted in the warm soil of memory, sustains my dreams. Recessant gene so insistently bearing life everlasting.

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