I

I dealt with 'children' too much, however adults they were , let us call them

as I 'on[c]e' wrote

the adult children of themselves
few were not stung by envy
hungered by hurt and ego ~




'I'

had no
time

passing
on removed traces I



of what had
in the majority of 'cases'
been unmemorable


weak and fractured

they having confused
their own youthful
folly however endearing
from the fierce
product

of enduring imagination ~


I clipped cut moved
along the sidereal


time spared
my gifts
I basted cooked

summered along
hewing & cooking
frogs and geese
bullfrogs
grunting like gallopin' nuns

the stunned boredom
of their recordings

whirred
zipped


solvent

as their

passing



Who were they?

Was there any?

Meaning well
they brought hell

`
in the end
the 'greatest' of the least



turned
out to be the top of the bottom


I scraped out the
barrel


shit stinking
sniffed the edges of its brim


puffed over the left over
seeing along all the along
it was
me
indeed Sir


indeed Madamoiselle

it was
Me

not you

None of you ever existed!

Poof! Poof!

there were no writers
no texts

no one there
ever

ghosts in the imaginings of my frosty comings


folly&madness deleterious dismissed ~


_________________