I can’t igno[re] / I must ig[nite]

I can’t ignore what they teach me, you know:

not because I am impressionable; quite the opposite.

I’m raw but not sore any

more; not out of any trolley.

If I cannot ignore what they tell me and

show, and the people which you – as a part of once 

good peeple – now forming a much wider and much

bad-structured whole do confirm in your

be-

haviours and 

be-

comings, and your

be-

gone and your

be-

done,

then it becomes pretty clear

why the nites I could’ve spent in your beautiful

embrace are still there as

nites which might’ve relit my re-

grace.

But if now I do see, in lecture after

lecture, the reality of 

your reality – of 

people who choose mad, who choose to fuck

our rock over –

then it is clear there is nothing I can do to defend 

your role at all;

nothing I can do which makes me feel in all

sincerity I’d have the right any time to 

speak and touch

and reach out and much

and be and see your face ever again.

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