Dusk dark dawn and today will spawn another yawning chasm
I'll wipe off the ectoplasm of the night and yawn right back
Another aspiration will be strapped to my knee
I'll develop a limp and wimp out of the simple steps needed
To succeed at elucidating dreams
And editing reams of romance chance and circumstance
Body building nonchalance will end my slumber
As it encumbers me with a number of reasons for disquiet
I'll try it and then spit it out
It will find some way of re-entering my mouth
As the hours are looped and overdubbed at will I'll still feel duped
And grouped in with the runners of the mill
Grinding my gormless grunts into gravel
I'll unravel and meander as I continue to pander
To prophecies produced by my team of personalities
Minor insanities and wholesale calamities
Combining and conspiring to convince me I'm real
They'll weave me a blanket to help me conceal
The fear of next year next month and next week
I've only got one face and I've already turned the other cheek
But I'll stare this down at some point in the day
And be okay for a while and smile
And embrace this place and the trace of some magic dust
Or long lost lust which I trust gave rise to this playground minefield of giddy tragedy I tiptoe through and whisper in
I'll want to move and start fresh
Smelling of mint with a glint in my eye
But I spy with my little mind
A fraction of all I have yet to find
And most of that is gonna stay hidden
While my curiosity's bedridden
And decomposing and supposing I'll never change
I'll be estranged from within if I don't begin to extend my range
And leave this exile
I'll revile my declarations of expectations
And all the tender ministrations received in between will mean nought
If that thought re-occurs and slurs are heard detrimental to my elemental balance
My ears are aching and full of wax
Spatial awareness has relaxed and taken maternity leave
I believe the birth will be complex
What sex the offspring who knows
What next for me well I suppose I'll come to my senses
And my defences will flourish as I continue to nourish them
With guessing games played and unplayed and splayed apart to show the grain
As I feign pain to claim the same gain I've always garnered from this wood
It should in theory feel good
To grow weary of my one truth
And compute and dispute my path my way my journey
My roads converge and urge the inklings to grow from twinklings
Into beacons of streaming light
On the verge of a surge towards a destination
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