When like an oracle of doom
I snip the truth to fit the rhyme

When like a man too much in love
I cage what I could freely have

When like a lord of industry
I mash and scorch organic clay

When like a rock percussionist
I shutter out the singing past

When like a wealthy socialist
I meet the world with frigid taste

When like some amateur of crime
I pirouette above a tomb

When like an expert on the arts
I lecture on exploded guts

When like a writer for the stage
I seethe to castigate and purge

When like a man without desire
I gaze on vistas chill and bare

Those are a few of the better days, actually.

Wayne Carvosso

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