Old Wound

As the sun grew in size and voyage to its westward home

Little mind sweats profusely in its narrowed kayak

Prancing about his nascent in sequestered crossroad

Old brother called him as mite with forlorn eyes

And put him through the mill of his wired mired pasts

Little mind was quick in whirlpool

As he ran into cold and invisible silent mewling

He was nailed of those kerfuffle days in lurking punches

Where he suffered in the marsupial of precarious death

He looked his misty eyes to the gusty mirror

And watched them unfurl to thick darken tears

He stewed over this kindling desire, keen as mustard

But old brother is rigid and out of kilter

He must put the mockers on the queery emotions

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