Let the old fade into the young,
Allow what is done to be done.
To be done anew
Rouse the people, get them up
Although the illusion of time itself undo,
Smash the hourglass into a cup
Overflowing with the ashes of phoenix plumes;
Or wherever they’ve bound her feet at the ballot
Boxing all things in One corner of totality,
Granting the ostrich peace as l’éminence grise picks, at
Ease the latest spin on it, O the perennially
Unfinished yawp of karma that
The ouroboros swallows
Up, only to return what follows.
It furthers to consider that not
Even our sun can last, let alone this
Straw Dog of form. Once I cast my lot
In the oscillatory ether of what is
Continuing to do what I ought.

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