Lost up at the top, anti-aphorisms ad hoc
Ticking tally counts and brushing bruises
Rejects gentle stance or throated chuckle
In the weft of station, lost anew each day
Still swaddled, stumbling along, sucking
Slurping at the swamp, sucking, sucking
Lost in the tides of March feeling strange
Glancing melancholic and no new points
So lonely, the lost one seeking a way out
Carving blind paths in the fjord and quay
Ignorance is fear with tremor and sweat
And bliss is an uncompressed evaluation
There is a schism in our minds allowing
The breaking of bold, unwise statements
Purpose past pitiful pander is paramount
Sense to reorganize penalty to remake a
System where now the actions of the few
Are reflected onto those fewest with most
Left standing damp and tattered, shut out
On the doorstep of liberation and fortune
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