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Through a scarlet haze,
And shockwaves,
From each passing phase
Take flight, take wing,
Pretend to sing,
But truly,
They don’t mean a thing.

Can you see to find the way
That carries us from day to day —
Or is there none?
What’s done is done.
The die is cast.
All’s lost
Or won.

Academic ignorance
Of symbiotic circumstance
Entailing only random chance
Is such a shame.
A formula less erudite
Perhaps could have success despite
Evidence not to the contrary.
But tell me:  who’s to blame?

There was a time,
That waxed sublime,
A moment bought
Without a thought,
But that was then.
So when again,
As shadows fall,
Do we begin?

Slightly frightful inobtrusion
All askew,
Are only footnotes on a page,
Wild beasts within a cage,
When I’m with you.

Published in The Wagon Magazine.

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