O why! did Nietzsche
die before that horse?
A subtle end, whether
by the hands of syphilis
or inner doubt. —so
caught my heart with
beleaguered tenderness
by hands of the canker
that brought him to his
knees, there in the street.
"Can someone help my
daughter; she's ecstatic."
You see the liquid leaking
into a sweet pink pool,
feel the static of impending
low front. There is a gutter,
it hurts as much as
mulching dead daises.
