IF I HAD A HAMMER you were pegged
deeper into the permafrost, your head
still ringing with redemption, crooked one:

not correspondant to command, aetherial
bombardment, or the proliferated
worm-in-the-gut of guilt

displayed as worm-in-a-jar,
resume your forlorn murmuring; discurse,
rejuvenated by sloughed biomass.

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