Tempest (poorly defined misery)

I could easily fill
a hundred of these
whiskey bottles

with abstractions;

could
draft and sign a contract for existence
and never once 

redact it.

Passively passionate
has never padded a single resume,

but my integral honesty
holistically advertises
endogenous disarray.

My
over-used
token
go-to
words might litter the page for days and weeks at a time,

but it’s all, in the end, an
unsatisfying
partial
horoscope.

Note for note
I played a card trick
on
destiny,

but now a string has snapped
with a resounding twang,

and I’ve botched
the slight of hand. 

There is no hiding
my complete and utter
tempestuousness

anymore.

Willie Watt
9.14.15

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