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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