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I killed a good man today that I’d let languish for two years:
Let monster live early this month despite his trail of tears.
I am the grand architect, it is I who gives and takes,
in my worlds of fiction characters pay for my mistakes.

Long-ago past infractions perpetrated against me
I revisit and rewrite; literary fantasy.
Officers Davies and Looney, back in nineteen-eighty-five?
were just a little snippy, as from stories may surmise.

Names of people and places that I’ve met and where I’ve lived
used often as foundations that span my stories’ bridge.
Sometimes serial numbers I do not obscure at all;
folks populating stories? I just let the damn chips fall.

Power to make creations to sit up and just behave
is power I am lacking as they dart through story’s maze.
Is this how God in Heaven feels as Earth He does observe?
Can’t explain why my creatures insist on acting so absurd.

With cameo appearances spring folks from nineteen-sixties,
past neighbors, friends and teachers I remember vividly.
And I spare not former me’s and my past atrocities;
face I hide behind a veil, expose my faults brutally.

I am the grand architect and I dictate how, where, when,
but though stories are my own often thoughts jump from my pen.
I’ve not power in real world to part Red Sea with my breath
though I contend otherwise it’s impotence I confess.

I am the grand architect, it is I who gives and takes,
in my worlds of fiction characters pay for my mistakes.
I am the grand architect, it is I who gives and takes
I am the grand architect, doomed to rewrite past mistakes.