i won’t tell you anymore
tell you how to
run through the rain
in the black voice
and eat dinner in the puddles
that collected like the blood
from the day that drunk man
(who drank 7 long island iced teas)
punched me in the nose.
you’ll have to figure it our
on your own
and not get your feet tangled
in the wire
that was wrapped around
your daughter’s neck
when she died.
so learn to deal on your own
and make something of it.

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