going through a world of sad debris,
regard quixotic reveries of ownership,
the blossoming disease of man called tenure and accretion,
the ancient western treadmill or deception and derision
but I want something more
racing through a life of tragic wastage
I experience the loss of trust and innocence,
the billowing cyclone of time has blown away our reasons,
as we trudge like blind men forward trying to avoid collision,
but I want something more.
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