Monday, November 14, 2022

Alienations of the Free

The art of the adept 
Is the skill with which the truth
Mixes with the lie

For the truth needs companions
— It's lonely in the cold
Without gods, words, tastes shared

And the dual always waits 
With a loaded pistol aimed 
At whatever heart aches

To get through the smoke
Of a morning where nothing
Is left to chance,

Everything's explained, or
Everyone thinks it is at least,
The bare table that's been left for us:

The coffee is bitter,
Berries sour,
Tastes that can be shared ...

How can you survive
When it's sweeter for you
Than for others?