the weight of his breath
on my back is a burden
and in itself uncovers my faults
so the broken and cracked
lay their load on a whisper
a sound like mist and rain
scratches and writings
are cheap excuse
for sorrows too great to explain
from sorrows of puppets
and laboring servants
flood joy and oppression both
in the same breath
were blessing and curses
that toil and humility wrote
END
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