The Gist

In all ways, always, the only constant remains loss.

 

The Gist

Reality is a bone-biting bastard
a teeth-clenching contention
a bearing of all in bruxism

Truth is a fickle belief
as cunningly cold as any grief
as trustworthy only as a drunkard’s relief

Cynicism is home to clairvoyance
found dismally too late after the fact
when revisiting words of earlier annoyance

I have been told: at times of chaos
rest, reduce, reorganize, take a breath, make a list
but you’ve set your sails for going away: that’s the gist.

 

17 September 2017

 

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