gruesome everymen
November 27, 2016
ezra pound was right
January 6, 2017

not far from where i lit the fire,
and sunrise wipes the crusty sleep from ember eyes,

is a whittled smile so perfect in its prescience,
as to be whittled sure from lies.

for nothing under sun is prescient, knows the day
ahead of days.

nor is the master-maker choreographer of ends
and all the ways from ways.

i should have snuffed the flare when chance allowed
or shushed the banging skies

tho giving deity the dice to roll
was man’s first choice, however grave unwise.

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