my backbone has been extricated
to verify the veracity
of this vengeance.
upon examination
of the exhumed emotions,
prognosis is simply
a noxious potion
of gnostic hypnosis –
eye for an eye,
three of a kind,
that high-flying wine.
everyone deserves a fresh start
whenever deemed necessary,
damned if it’s mid-moon cycle,
two months after your birthday,
three-quarters of the way to the new year.
forgiven, but your forget me not eyes
won’t let go
of the bottle, oh…

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