The truth



In our hearts:

But in art

It requires

The lie to part

The meet

And separation

Of soul.

And the roll 

We must play

And push

And rush towards

Another, that weal

Of tremendous pane,

Of the insane 

Who cannot accept

The absurdity

Of pave –


As it is,

Utterly fookish,

As the rage

Of have

And not have,

Whiled and free

And, inevitable,

Madly unseen – 

So finally,


Evidently raving sad –

And brought up bad –

Does overtook 

All sensibility.


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