The comprehension, threadbare
At a purity of heart
Hailing nothing but tomorrows
When nothing stands today
The perception is wretched,
And the man is bleak,
Standing alone,
Mutters to himself through insipid lips
Fizzled out, a product of a dazed generation,
Speaking to the ground,
For where are the listeners when hearing isn't sound?
An absolute certainty rests high on a shelf,
Foreign and forgotten,
Feigns all answers,
Weighs all opposing and concurring options, dispositions,
Without grasp, without stilts,
No maps in sight
This boy lacks in all but attire
And you could swear on any beginning-
He'd lost all real sense and identity
Alone and stranded, endlessly bare,
Stark, raving mad
To a horse-drawn self, downtrodden,
I hadn't recalled a word from this morning
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