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Click hereIs there an end to things? Can you feel it?
Rounded and smooth or
jagged as though broken off
roughly, or in anger?
Maybe it’s just a butt
trodden on outside some
seedy joint from which
I am excluded.
What was my brain doing? Sorry to go all metaphysical weirdola on your poem.
I had to read this a few times to get the meaning. Damn, you're gonna force me to concentrate too early in the morning. After my neurons decided to cooperate, I got what it meant to me, but only after walking away for a bit and coming back to read it again. Others may glean different meaning, but that is what is so fun about verse such as this. Conceptually, it is kinda a cool physical comparison to a process of confusion. Butt, is there ever an end, or is the end simply an opportunity for new beginnings? Perhaps those begin in fertile valleys dripping with moisture, so the answers to butts, maybe enticed through climaxed meditation, endearing the soul to heightened awareness about one's station in the milieu of life. Screw those who trod, kick em in the ball sac and figure it out. Include yourself in the excluded and be the included, the aware, the living and the ripe. What the fuck was I talkin about?