k.w.nicol

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devil may do

it's one of those things, you know

everybody's got both of them inside

shame and redemption

love and fear

pain and pleasure

clarity and perversion

spend 2 minutes on any playground

and you'll see exactly what I mean

little bodies

everywhere

oscillating between these things

silhouettes

against a clear horizon

dancing in and out

without one thought

of committing themselves

to either or

but time has its way,

as it always does

of marching silently on

flickering from dusk to dawn

and sending its battalions off to play

on fields far and between

while raising new armies

to fill each fresh and familiar scene

yet it's these lessons we carry with us

far more than those

we had to contend with

behind the hardwood and brick

of the lies

complicit

with a baffling devotion

to the deadening

of all that incipient wit

but the gauges get set

like it or not

in these early stages

quivering slowly

to one side or the other

—either or

—either or

and maybe it's this

—this whole goddamned set up—

that delivers so many of us

into realities we'd rather not contend with

later on in life

who (of those whose spirit won't roll over) can possibly contend

with such reverence?

hammering the lie of chastity

into armour

year after year

without so much

as a pin prick

to breathe from?

nonetheless

stiff collars, handshakes and drinks abound

each of us

working to peer around corners

built of whispers

and allowing only the blessed few

into our private quarters

after a time

where we reveal

in the sanctity of those secret playgrounds

just which one it is

the devil may do


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