Like raw clay upon a wheel,

I twist decades’ old regrets

to shape my truth with desire

to be some other than I am.

As if life’s embarrassment

could be stripped away, like skin

cut loose in great bloody skeins,

free from doubt’s infinite knots:

Tangled in old fishing lines,

I am trapped within myself.

The only recourse is guilt

inlaid along my arms’ veins

like intricate red nets flung

across a river’s slow wash.

(November 4, 2021)

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