Freshly Pressed

One day I wrote a few words that impressed;
My prose, dressed up nicely in Sunday best. I
Was pleased, honored, flattered; but couldn’t have guessed:
Now every new day feels quite like a test…

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Baa Baa Black

Out of the wilderness, black sheep
Bleating; dead heart beating, receding,
Retreating from overcrowded solitude.
Verisimilitude erased. Chaser chased by
Pursuers pursued; thoughts eschewed and
Reclaimed, never named, always
Blamed, reframed and reworded. Absurdity
Burdened by unloaded guilt in a quilt of patchwork
Heartbreak, headache. Namesake of nothing; ever
Becoming in the midst of unravel. Gavel falls: broken
Walls collapsing, altars lapsing in clouds of
Holy dust consecrated in blood obviated by ongoing
Martyrdom. Tilted cross at a loss for repeated
Explanation. All is obfuscation and
Doubt. Let me
Out!