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Between myself pressures mount at angles.
The old war horse day does plod on
(it works for some full time)
But inside things rebel, furies rage and divide.

Pressures pile, weighting together. Steam spins off my hiding.
The snap must come. On the global scale of things,
A small tremor, but quaking my bones.
It's got me rattled.

Beside myself, I trail in a dark spot. Feet keep the eyes company.
I have not looked up to see your whites, your clean whites,
Light for a long time.
I am bat blind, and won’t listen.

Drag me out, young blood. Incompetent, constantly
I lower you my horns, my rough tongue,
Holds to confession.
Lead me to pasture. I will chew cud, gracefully.

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