Nerve pattern


A fleck of rust, a speck of dust,

A sense that “must” no more demands

Positions clear where one stands.

Age can fade decisions made,

Trade what once delayed for time.

Arrangements slip, no longer match

Where they should catch.


Cease to define chaos or design.


Fidelity to what may be

Distills no more from what to see.

The eye supplies the mind

With light brushes from reality

While consciousness becomes seduced

By probabilities induced under reflection.

Bulk input suffers rejection when it conflicts

With prejudice which slyly tricks the willing thoughts.


The escapades of raids

From mere suspicions

Riddle twaddle into conditions,

Tickle the cosmos with superstitions

To somersault stabilities

While rationality quickly fades.




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