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seven and a half

It is not good to keep silent.
It is not good to speak.
It is hard to know--there is no knowing
which and what to do.
I shout opinions and crush hearts.
I bury opinions and crush hearts.
Opinions, then,
are deadly things.
They kill with greater efficiency
than the strength of my arm
or the might of my mind.

I would remove them,
but they crop up
with each bite from the fork,
with each perk of the ear.
I would undo them,
but they have already given me
a tainted name.
They have already spoiled
this chat and that shake of the hand.
There is no retrieving the slight,
no replacing it with affirmation,
no recalling it
or calling it by another name.
It is my self-made bane.
Oh be careful little mouth
what you say.

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