burn your tomes, boy, you've got it made.
you've got your arm stretched to yesterday.
keeping secrets wont seal your knowledge away,
so arcane.
but you keep it so clandestine
when i'm standing on the mezzanine
and you're hurling your soliloquies at me--
i'm not listening.
i know i've no part in your work of art.
all this pretension will pass you away
to lesser age.
now is your time to gather retribution,
standing like a harlequin:
"do your worst, darling."
playing atlas for transience,
a transient, in transit,
a love-fettered romantic.
old stories are written before they're made.
wait for a memory.
a moment of clarity,
parried disparity:
make your choice now.
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