snaking along the outer edge
of my miasma
is a queasy feeling
about the inevitability
of no grace and no hope
and no love for the duped
and all the lost effort I've made
in the foolishness of compassion
we are united in suffering
the religious books all say so
as though if you wanted to be happy
you had to be deluded
some paradise sprawling around us
but impossible to access...
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