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Truth & Ruffles

I now have a compulsion to enter man terrain
with the pitchfork ready.
The gravity in leaves pulls at the round thumping
in my palms, the random
beat of living figs
behind newspapers.
It is this compulsion I'm giving you
for the best film
of our time.
I am truly my inherited proposition.
Out here, out there

Structure

11 lines · 1 stanza