Cud

Here I sit within the portals of pain
week in, week out  regurgitating for analysis
platitudes and banal musings,
merging with heightened scenes of abject misery
in ever more synchronized rhythms . . . throwing up
and out.  choking, gagging on noxious memories,
each time transposing them,
centering into manageable feelings.
Like a spotted cow grazing on green grasses,
vomiting cud, only to chew it again
and regurgitate once more . . .
On through four stomachs until, at long last,
they are voided into a smoldering wretched
heap upon the grass cow-tippers seek to avoid,
and ignore. –
the pain finding its manifest shape and scope
to be tucked into a corner gathering dust,
buried in forgetfulness, inspired by exhaustion.

 

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