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beware the butter
beware the knife
beware oleaginous praise cozened by deprecation
beware your soul ; your soul is unclean
your soul longs to squat in dirt and grime
and your soul will destroy all puritan smut
beware the excuse ; beware your excuses
beware your own fear ; do not fall wary of it
you have came and you have gone
you may have failed to conquer

but beware the desperate hunger in your womb
hysteria will drive you ; do not humour your tragedy
i have seen it ; i can lay claim
to the bathos that quakes your bones through your souls
and aches with rheumatism within your joints
beware the moist of underground palaces
and the noble slickness that wreaths your labyrinths
you are not noble; your soul is ignoble
your tragedy will ignite, and i have heard

the choking agony of agents and heroics and mountain-king
your affliction tightens your shackles
your sobs will water your thorns
there has been no freedom in the parabola of history
and freedom will not trespass on your soul
rule your bubonic epoch
take your newspaper-coffees coming bitter
destroy the breakfast lymphs but
never destroy
the butter