Craft

Top and bottom, please.
Do not send me
                                                             to a middle
                    that only concerns itself
                                                                               with immedia' neighbors.

Call it extremis, address it to Mr. Devil III and Ms. God Sr.;
hoped for responses to stay out of purgatory.

Did I work hard enough at the absurditis, Albert?
Can I have mine eagles in this life and repeating, Friedrich?
Did my confusion invigorate and make music, Heather?

I won't know for a while;
as I stare at the style;
hoping for pauses,
settling for causes.

Push on, with the calm of the worm covered in ants,
hoping for a robin or a rain
wriggling on account of the pain
remembering more than before of recants and chants.

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