Tuesday, August 22, 2017

Intelligent Design

Such monumental mulling went into it
That any reversal of fortune implies a bid
Against a house of curtaincalls, accordingly
Carded for the timeless therapy of a spree;

Such purposeful pain and purity went into it
That you’d think none of us trim and fit
To gainsay the dead for the utility of bread
Among hordes envious of those who fled

Shadowside. Credibility marooned, bereft
Of tantalizing foolery to foul a dreamer’s yield;
It builds seascapes to sail, a pagan’s point

To parse the sky’s failure to repair. I’m left
All alone, ozoned bones brittle, mis-healed,
Paying the sharksuited to sue the joint.

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