1974 and that part of the poet's psyche that he would later label Androne or The Actor emerges. The poet insists this is not a real event depicted, but a vision of how some justify their abuse of others, sort of a bookend to go with penance.
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you cannot go back.
last night is now dead.
and all that remains
are the stains on the bed.
do not seek excuses.
we all find regret.
it is part of our being,
like blood, spit and sweat.
and just as fluidic.
transient and moist.
evaporated pleasures
we deny were our choice.
though often I regret things,
curses cast at time
may wash away the bloodstains,
but never change the crime.
William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.