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Lucky Man
Always troubled by a wraith of fear;
escaped from haunted labyrinths,
parting without forgiveness

and then steering by the will,

he'd set down all his yesterdays

and traveled: traveling still.

For his bequest, an unfertilized seed;
the steady quickening of clocks,
the noisy ticking of his need.

A skeptical imagination, fashioned out of strife,

saw the long shadow of his dissolution,
the small fire of his life;
corrupted priesthoods, guilt for absolution,
fanatic legions crouched upon the prayer mat,
dialectical materialists, Hegel in a hard hat.
A free mind was his lonely imprimatur,
deconstructing totems of the Father.
John Gartland
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