Let It Come

      There's my seizure again right up ahead. Let it come!
      Don't try to force it to evacuate my head. Let it come.
      What's this, a mosquito who wants to take her chances
      at a stretch of skin already well bled? OK let it come.
      Next time the opportunity arises when I can get caught
      in a compromising position in my bed, then let it come.
      We were scheduled to vacation in New Orleans this week
      but it'd seem panic's too easily widespread. Let it come.
      You were supposed to have been the best of all my life?
      That I'll know better when I'm dead. Yeah, let it come.
      What with all the disclaimers and precautions and all,
      it won't come out like they'll've said, but let it come.
      If trouble were to loom nearby because of an indulgence
      I chose because of how I'd been misled, I'd let it come.
      A storm of stony silence hits my window like it's hail
      as my poetry's one metaphor's misread. Just let it come.
      "Sara," comforts my lover, "why are you crying so hard?
      Your cheeks and eyes are drenched in red." Let it come.

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