the cuts are clean
if a little misshapen
when nails need trimming
that of the forefinger chipped
on the b string of an old guitar
I was playing for my enjoyment
while I sat alone in an empty room
neglected rats in stark cages
bury their heads in the ground
probably to avoid the truth
that life has its expectations
but here I am recycling tired phrase
repetition is cycle management
back to waste expulsion
toxic intake
repeat
the death of the unsuspecting man
is slow but inexorable
and will leave him in want
of an experience to call life
now I must wait for their regrowth
so I might play once more
so I might have an experience
so I might call it life
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