At Best You’re a Hermit

Since I met you, I’ve found,/you don a hermit’s guise;/in order to force a marching army/to rise at dawn./To command it to remain living/under a rude ordnance/you generate thrills, a mile a minute/while they break for mess,/you beam in consecutive letters at random, they form the words for blackmail notes./The shock apparent ,in the reasons you give/shows up only in a world unwanted.Filled with heat, but no caress,/ it’s a call to nature/ from empty arms in gingham./We pause at the corner,/stoplight’s arrows green,red:/cross to lush parkland/ a suspicion of dying light./These things tell me/that as a hermit, you’re open /to hearing what you already knew./Saplings brown on either side,/they rise over the course of the years,/ mere inches from a trail, soon immense,by neutral design./You are a hermit, but you’ve seen a share of trees,/and know plenty./Why refuse to walk the guided trail/since you’re sure of the tread?/Collecting cans and bottles,/easy wares that always come first,/before you meet me.

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