Coded As Morse

In my wanderings,

fictional and non,

I am fighting,

swinging a bat,

bringing the iron,

to some joker’s windshield,

one who had the audacity to…

insult a friend,

make an unwanted pass,

test my patience,

which is grand,

like the River Nile,

it expands,

alongside desert and river bank,

in the creases of half sleep,

in the cracks,

aggression takes over,

hidden and misinterpreted,

coded as morse,

no pedigree,

just unscheduled blows,

to the body,

to the jaw,

through the ego,

making a mess of things,

where do I begin?

oh yeah…

I did already,

as the taste of blood and shame mix,

tempers die down,

the reason is clear to me:




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