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Predilection

I won’t be ruled by clichés
nor metaphors of old.
The past is what plays.
I will not be sold.

No matter the past.
Call it what you want.
“The first will be last.”
Dispose of that haunt!

Let one word follow the next
like a chain gang unsentenced.
The line will never rest.
The period stays repentance.

You threw me on the tracks.
I couldn’t relax from the start.
A train ground over my acts.
I looked up and there was art.

Published in Poetry