It’s not only your contempt,
In truth, you must have been tempted,
By my respect.
Its not just your sacrilege,
Who is to say who:
Curated our neglect,
Defaulted on our debt,
Stuffed rugs with the swept?
Your chest for a drum,
Their torso on the lam,
A year, for many years.
No you may not speak.
You spoke at me,
You flickered me,
Off my station.
You pinched and
You bit me,
for a bit,
For a while,
For ’til now.
The hour is upon us,
and us may be subtracted,
But not before we speak.
You must hear
You must listen
To our verbal tics
You must stop
You must crop
Your mount
on the uncounted.
We shall speak
With one eye
On the 15 shadows cast
For the hour for speeches is
No more.
One more,
To be ungagged,
To speak
Something must give.
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