It is good to work
the dumb, obsessive
muscles. Exertion draws
the mind from hope
to a more tangible object.
To live
is to relive.
This can only work
when there is an object
to push, cursive and recursive,
up the hill, when you hope
this draws
to no close as day withdraws,
but will replay in dreams. You live
in hope
of dream-work,
its regressive,
Awake, abject,
the conscious mind draws
into a ball; the Elusive
tongues it like the pit of an olive.
The quirk
of hope
in recurrent nightmares is the hope
at last to be the object
of the murderer's handiwork,
when he draws
the knife to relieve
the stutter, to make passive
the massive
machinery of hope,
the broken record of alive.
Why object?
The luck of all the draws
is the weight of stone.
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