Theseus Before Me (a mess within this labyrinth)

Seems easy from the vantage point, held to east by some conjoined
Attempt at consternation – rage within me now – flare of gut and stern
And how just anything may falter. As men around the camp have taught
Us well to not resist, trained us in the arts of systematically say no.
Like age without you now – a dream wherein the name resounds like
David, Alexander – best among my worst in these familiar affairs,
These points of pressure. Tired and tearing from endeavour what
Said happy might retain; whatever they proclaim I must accept,
And to protect myself: I can. It’s the circumstance, I mean – it’s
Historical context. Here’s a visit: there’s a protocol to kneel, to feel
It aggrandise toward these fields of ars telesphora. Sporadical, and
Then: reoccurring currently when: abandoned to the circle of a buzz
It makes, the evils it perpetuates: insurge/resurges late upon this
Frame of mind, this fraught of thinking. Like a costume to the clothes,
Unsought, unwilling – you lay armour to the pose you see surviving
In a testament to free the weight of the world from me. It does not.
All is pointless. Every turn that’s tried is worthless as we hide from
What’s the else – animallike and treacherous – dead with the songs
Of night and all the privilege of someone this allowed to roam,
Thus free to feed. It acknowledges us now, and makes to meet me.
Arms the size of flesh it’s torn, cheap prophecy it rides on – diabolical,
And then: near galloping. As what laughter I find inside me is, first
Choked up, then unleashed. With a sword to the horns if you will –
As it wishes. A matter of pulse if it feels, erratic. Awash in blood.


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