Shortly, no time for pleasure

Shortly I shall have no time

nor opportunity to

read my life in terms of

pleasures multiple.

And the life I led to this point 

in 

time, lost of all 

sensuality

and even of

rhyme, will acquire a certain

skating sort of 

patina in the 

future 

too, 

as intellect will

stretch and strain most wisely 

whilst body must

remain repressed of all desires

to access sex and sultry

process, and those procedures out

t-

here, wary as we are to

transgress serious frontiers 

of legalistic duty and device.

And whilst the investigation of justice

deserves every attention

of the brave and whichful and

watchful and thoughtful, no 

longer do we have

the room to tele-

scope the rope that once could

hang an art of shadows, as

recovered it might the

wisdoms of abandon.

For such wisdoms – in other

shade of obligation – can

no longer explore with

creative freedoms: instead it is

left to us just to

watch from afar the liberty 

of the truly free; the liberty 

of the

loudly proud.

And though it’s true material poverty

may indeed be theirs, their

wealth of grandly daily communion

with truth does still bewitch

our sense of self, as we can only

wonder what might have been

if material riches just had been

re-

jected quite lowly as expletive deleted

in 

mad trials of 

famously wronging

men who possessed the

ability to disable

society in their pursuit of

money and dumb mad stuff,

and in their despising of

the accuracy

of reality treasured: the treasures

of those who never 

gave

in.

(Not our destiny –

nor

achievement – at

all; for we are made of weak

soul it is true.)

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