It’s all been Russian roulette and the game
was rigged from the start. So,
you dear and distant god, what am I to
make of these small moments between
the hammer and the head?
Allow me this thought:
The clouds that are expelled from me
into winter’s dusk no longer take the form
of myth or fancy as they are painted
against a dying sun. They are cotton candy
caricatures of a man in the act of
self immolation.
I believe perhaps all of this has been a walk
down Saigon Road, and I’m now coming to sit calmly
without movement or sound at this intersection
The world I have seen is a nuclei, and
I am an electron in sporadic oscillation all around it.
I may leave at any given moment to bring
the clouds of another world to wholeness
or part from them to expose them…
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Wonderful
🙂