Somewhere between
The life imagined
And an existence
He dreaded
Found himself snowbound
In a cave
With jaded mirrors
And bottomless bags
Of smoke trails
So
Nobody hears his calls
No one knows where to look
Nothing will note
The eventual buried
Article
And that
Will just have to do
Has to believe
It is better
Than a lifetime
Or even
Quarter an hour
With the perception
Of being seen
Backwards
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