The Bane of My Hypocrisy

Allison Grayhurst


The Bane of My Hypocrisy


Point – a head twisted backwards,

gazing with upside-down eyes

at the rainy world, a tightly woven

madness that is interrupted at the moment

of release, beauty recovered

but broken before experienced – an acorn

crushed by a car wheel – the treacherous and

oblivious – a candle looked at but never lit.

It is the time of a baby’s teething, when pain drools out in

a flooding aftermath of unnameable agony.

This is the child who

has no use for the outside world. This is me curled into

a dull surrender – unsure if there is a next move,

if there will be a time when I can rid myself of the bile

filling my belly – the corporate pimps and sluts, the self-

important money-makers, the big little people,

these devil’s minions who try to bury me in their fear


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