A Bad Name


We were never fooled into relying on good intentions.
We knew things like that would give way
to "much, too much."

The gentler approach was never your operating praxis
and maybe I wanted it to be,
just once out of all those times I never thought to ask.

If only to save any feeling I had left or to preserve
a laugh that may have survived,
unaltered, still full.

What we mastered was masking -
our combined failures and the fraudulence we were both bred out of.
When the time came I tore it off alone.

Thus unleashing a beastly uproar, one which came rumbling
like a stomach starved until it could no longer be soothed
with a shift in position, the wave of a hand.

Only finally lurching, giving us no charade of a choice to be made.
We began feeding into that ravenous emptiness we learned
from our mothers before us.

Much, too much and all at once.

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