Falling Down Again

My soul so serrated by self-widdled
home.  Glut and slut had me pregnant
sounds fed, my red cedar gushed
with ravage and with rage, a bleeding
fight for two but only for one made.
I dreamt a midnight weary, that
shadows would find my brow, dear
far away sparrow, my wings are
yours in woe.  What fool for Lesbia
falls, my chair into that bath,
a hall of infinite mirrors where all I
see I fall.  My faulter is my gem,
its lustor in the wind, I fell for a slut,
whose deep seeded sows of farmers
are where not fruit nor love give up.

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