Towards the end, he began dreaming of self-evident things,

peeling himself clean,

away from the finely sculpted renditions of perfection.

He began chasing the thing he wanted most,

the filth,

the dirt that can only be known,

found

beneath his own broken fingernails

and the filtered opportunities

still caught up in the things

he still had left to do.

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About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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