I sit in a cushioned chair
under a gazebo
on the back deck of
that which is called the mind,
sharing fantasies of illumination,
sprinkled with rain showers of regret
coming from a cloudless sky in
the imagination of another that
I borrowed no so long ago,
but kept for a needed diversion;
and, in this process of self-deceit,
I have come to see what has never
been visible to my imagination
but which has been on the tip of
our father's tongues for centuries:
"cast ye spells while ye may or
be dead within the hour for a
thought that deserved to die
before being realized."
13Sept17
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