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| Lucky Man |
| Always troubled by a wraith of fear; |
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escaped from haunted labyrinths,
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parting without forgiveness
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and then steering by the will, |
| he'd set down all his yesterdays |
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and traveled: traveling still. |
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For his bequest, an unfertilized seed;
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the steady quickening of clocks,
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the noisy ticking of his need.
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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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