your fault i am even out here
isaias; triplet monographs
mouth-burned mumblers
the lot of you
crack-lipped, numb
pustuled prophets
i've shattered not a single yoke
i've taken every one in hand, and
they don't even bend
no light springing forth
no listening ear
just we like oxen dragging ourselves behind us
if you mouth(s) had never been burned
i would be smooth-lipped
maybe gainful, maybe
yoked yet
better if we had not met
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