Dark wood secludes affection for a while
as we listen to ourselves on earth
be nimble in the forebrain and deserve
our ordinary furlough until darkness

seems a pratfall and a positive distress,
some lame authority will rise to factor in
and own, until anyone would rather drift
than we lobotomized as such, earning a pathway

to the reputable habit of portraying
answer after answer in our sleep
until she's lost the zeal to let go
places she believes would want her,

knowing all the while nobody
wants to watch the rich
get richer and bereave a poorer self
alone along the rodeo performing tricks undying.


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