Wrong-go[i]ng

Noise that 

sounds out so long like

the

gong of Bur-

ana or car-mine and

yours: and no

long-

er can gong-

er re-present the

gift I once thought

quite wrongly you

wanted to 

be

for me,

and I wanted

you were, but in t-

ruth you were sim-

ply lying my

rights and making our

roads cross not as

in

love but rather

in crash of opposite

life: for I do real

eyes this now: 

an auto-

mobile without good

reception is

just shit on the shite of 

the black boxes and

de-vices of a soc-

[p]iety which knew all 

along that the gong

of rank 

sonority is no more

than hidden and

bad faithly 

con

wayed 

expressions of bad

leche, in

deeds and in docs

of rusty [k]nighted

ship.

On

your 

part-ing (definitively),

there is nothing

more to

weigh down,

nor up, nor inside – nor

out!

And it was your choice 

all along,

my dear: and you

chose so unwisely.

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