Helmet, I am, and lost
amid ranks and ranks of such and such
frittering away my life
to dull and unimpassioned
wars.
Helmet, I am, thick skulled
and mute - discipling young brutes
to walk in the awkward ways
of me and mine.
Helmet, I am?
I do not know.
This helmet stretches farther
than a helmet ought to go.
Boh.
Bank.
Bouch.
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1 comment:
That was as beautiful. Almost as beautiful as a 6-month-uncut helmet.
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