Poem #2,837 | This does not matter

This does not matter – yet
others have hung their ire
off these lines – Claimants
of misrepresentation align
under lies – A coven swills
spittle into a rich stew & is
fat with hate – These days
of solo life runs my fate – I
eye into my last long arc to
a let-loose finishing tape &
raise my lips into my verse-
cloud of sweat-wet words
as [her] count-of’ll witness
my lolloping poems an end