None of it
Is ever self-evident,
We just stumble from
One thing to the next
Like drunkards
Having had our fill
In one tavern,
Looking for another
That will let us
Overflow,
My head filled
With the confusion
Time always brings,
A change of perspective
Marginally more accurate
Than what I first thought,
Giving lie to the idea
More drinks make us
Drunker, when
We can’t get any drunker
Regardless of how
Much more we drink,
Trying to make sense
Of now as compared
To back then,
Trying to clear away
The fog,
Knowing it can’t be
Cleared,
And what was a mystery then
Still is.
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