mardi 3 novembre 2020

On Infinite Parallels

      So hushed a voice before the ditty
The road runs out way off the city:
Hopeful like Moses on the verge
I’ve hummed along the desert dirge.
      I’ve drunk lush pills, to no avail
And tried where schnooks and calves prevail
Earned but one lifetime of remorse.
Could all have gotten worse, of course.

      Since all winds up the way it started
And all the wiser you’re outsmarted
And soundest arguments turn lame
If raised, in hunter’s stead, by game
      Don’t blame the players, name the game.
The rules abjectly say the same:
When lines are crooked, the crooks unbend
To silted ruts that never end.

October 26, 2020

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