What A Nice Steady Pain

Fast though this slow pain swirls, 

In the inner gizzards, 

These well pruned measurements, 

The hedgerows that surround, 

And thus signify my person, 

My emotions obtrude but a little. 

This is not, 

After all, 

Anything like passion, 

This is curled up and feral, 

Frightened, 

By the mind’s intent, 

When it wonders, 

And, 

As it longs to wander. 

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