Whose idea was that: You made 
your bed,
you lie in it? Isn't it

rather the bed's unmade in order
for anyone to lie in it? You reap

what you sow, you dig your own grave
and sleep in a field forever. Such

bitterness, yellow as a plot of tansy
ragwort, toxic as yew: a single mouthful

would stop the heart of a horse
in minutes. Therefore give me back

the flax before the weave, the seed
ahead of the furrow, the animal

need before the yoke, the hairline
tremor before lightning stroke.


In response to Via Negativa: Reader's Remorse.

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