there is always another
waiting in the wings (generation, culture, civilization)
and the dance is fleeting.
seems too many people hold on
to the simple equations, the fables
which explain away this complication.
are we forever going back to something
from the past for the ultimate answer?
now, in florescent certainty
there is another condemned
to think in lines. face of a tyrant
(fury and fame)
voice is gravel sorting the many lyrics
songs in the ears of millions
and no hope; but to burn-out
like so many candles