It's all for presentation
to make a show; an idol of the divine.
Backstage it's a different world
for when the party ends
is the long to belong.
To sit with a cup of chaufet
in trust and confidence, but it's an act
in a theater - for it's all angles
to make fish for a fishing
a pussy to catch -
It is as the difference of baits
for fans, friends, fiends - it's the same
entertainment on others behalf
the attention span for gags
is money, matrice.
You come to the House
of Belongings there's an empty room.
It is the stillness of our minds:
on it is painted all the smoke
and mirrors removed.
You are the rage into it
I am to it like a stoic out of the sphere
There for the distance between
I understand where you are
I am there too.
For it's all arranged
even if we were to meet and talk once;
there is no exit to these roads
once you're taken down it,
there we both are.
There's nothing here
Into vessels and chalices do we pour
our essences to the cups
then you and I disappear
like drops, drops, drops.
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