Question it, does it matter?
each action, each word,
If no one is to read it.
Maybe Bukowski is right,
A tornado siren is sounding.
An Omen?
No, but it couldn’t be.
Just the slip of a finger,
Just a klutz in the office.
What fear though it arose.
What sense of life,
it rang in each livid beat.
What a moment of life,
That enacted horror.
Just a slip of a finger,
Maybe, Just maybe,
I could do the same.
Raise insurmountable,
Terror and tears.
Does it matter?
Not really.
Just everything,
to me.

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