Monday, November 30, 2015

Nor Am I Out of It

Let's say Dostoevsky earned a stay
Of execution that afternoon.
Let's say the endlessly intricate
Atavisms favored by journalism
Never did other than worsen
An existence in the cell of a skull
By hastening its extinction.
Let's say nothing. The world,
Forever shrinking and expanding 
Again, new frontiers, less Lebensraum,
Refuses to behave our selves
More basely than our selves behave.
This is nonsense. The night descends
The way a curtain raises to reveal
The real actors, still in costume, out
Of character, sweating and grinning
To our sustained and envious applause
So close to the untouchable stars.

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