Or Maybe It Wouldn’t Be

No, not you, sit down,
I have other plans for you.
They are long, far-ranging,
and complicated.
On your feet,
You’re slipping and you’re slow.
But you’re perceptive,
you pretend not to but
you pay attention,
Like when I answer without rancor
or pretense of moral outrage,
from having judged, and balanced needs
against best probable outcomes,
Direct and honest like instinct.
I saw you get that,
That’s what I fancy about you.
I’m not out to fuck you,
in any sense of the word,
that would be disastrous,
in any sense of the word.

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Franklyn Monk

Poet. Geek. Science fiction aficionado. General freak.
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