make
believe
pretend
it's a mind like ours made us, made ours
that
can't be hubris
that
won't even count as superstition
what's
memory
without
the names?
raft
the flood has
here's
the hard cold
here's
the wet fall
over
here's dry footing
the
further
from
a name
we've
set
the
more
we
see
we
need
these
crutches
the
new words
catch
a book by the tail
sit
on it
slap
will
the truth come
it's
in the bucket
flapping
about
as
if there were
nothing
to breathe
Laconic slapped-out truth, flapping about...in a bucket.... as you say, bothers the gods:)
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