Spun Rout

Were you on a path
without cynics or vehicular cauter
sewing your own buttons
onto thirdhand shirts

self insufficient, obviously,
Waldenponding at your card game
after you got your laundry done
by that so-called caretaker

when you were so-not alone;
would you rather:
twittering into that loud, lucid night
enforce your will, the law as you wrote

helping the forces of whatever
gain what they desire through your
sophistry, magic, lore
and who is the wrong question

as is when
for identity is like time
unending, unstarted
a project that can only end

in fears, death won't even let go
of the dizziness that lead to nausea 
and its solution, a question 
you were asked, why:

lose on purpose
let it go its own way
like the rain on the squirrel
who can't decide;

the tire is not its fault
nor was life mine
or yours
or ours.

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