pretense precedes practicality,
we dump feelings into a reservoir
of our previous incriminations,
purified and clean we dress appropriately
signifying rebirth out of control,
a cool calm calculates our destinations
we limp along undetected in our
approach to an impending death
and those who would have us gone
look the other way down the street
as if waiting for the parade that
like Godot never arrives at all.
12 October 2020
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