Out in chill midnight mist
Deep in wood and burdened
This onus, this charge
Guilt glistening forehead
Stink of feverish salt
Breath and heart competing
Lugging, pulling, dragging
Plastic wrapped monolith
The dead weight of uncertainty
Dig until torn palm skin
Neck cranes reigned by paranoia
Untold tensions and exasperated strains
O wasted pains of vain labor
Never ceasing until the dirty deed is done...
But dirty deeds are never done
In the art of intervention
Reason is impotent
Yet denial cannot hide what is naked to the mind:
No matter how deep the plot the dogs will still smell her
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