the half blind poet
from squinting at the
fine print carefully
etched frantically upon
another tear streaked
missive on how it most
certainly wasn’t me

which only reiterates
it was never going to be

me

i had an epiphany
whilest pondering the
persnickety nature
of pervasive chemicals
in another of my cyclical
plunges into the cold
sluice of swirling angst

there is a conjunction in
juxtaposed disorders where ex
marks my heart in permanence
before the first bud breaks
the toxic top soil of banded
polarities in a blind spot
big enough for two