My ugly side is surfacing,
in little ways from everything.
My patience martyred, tenderness
and gift turned tough and stringy.
Lift us up from underneath
my sighs! I grow and loom
in warp and weft a tapestry
of ugliness I can't abide
this anymore. Just this is left:
I'll simply have
to end the match. No score.
It was
no game, no play,
no miss, no catch. All this
was just a test
of ugliness.
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