I am a peculiar
JENGA of stacked wood blocks
Some of good fortune
Some of hard knocks.l
Launched by a Mother’s
Warm milk and whispers
Years before any
Inkling of vespers.
Wanting my own way
Intrepidly.
Licking the wounds
Of colliding playmates
Who used abused confused me.
Is it necessary to study,
Analyze the pieces?
Pulled out and held out
To incriminating sunlight
And turned in every direction
For good measure.
One piece, and another piece
Until my stack collapses
At God’s Gravity pleasure.
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