From The Lowest Limb


I shuffled down the dirt road at a snail’s pace

trying to prolong my existence,

in a feeble attempt to postpone the inevitable,

my back to a howling wind that pushed me along.

The whistling in my ears muted the sneers

from a multitude of dust devils.

High noon was fast approaching,

bringing to light a tortuous certainty.

I stared down at the loosely hanging shackles

that bound me to the filth of poetic injustice.

Muttered a curse to the sentence pronounced.

Swore to the gods through the pangs of retribution.

I knew where I was headed,

and followed the footsteps of many a man most assuredly


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