The lonely disparaged in shadows cast with error wander
trying to find a sense for tragedy,
desperately looking for words real enough to sunder;
Then tragedy finds a mask, and wears it proud,
Those that flock, sway’d in penny’s clocked
and docke’d on the crack where it was found
then Ol’tom lost a bed and the lamb, a pound (point).

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Literature, art, science, travel. Writing fiction, non-fiction, poetry. Always wrestling with language.

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