by Patricia Bohnert
Mind wild with possibility
Runs off first left and then east
Soars to the corner of the ring of Saturn
And back to the edge of chasm
‘Tis then to know
That may be one
There is hope for the few
To see, clear the fog
Chew nails to the bed
Close eyes to think
Let numbers line up
Step to one’s heartbeat
Oh, what sweet, sweet justice
When the call comes
We need you
Your thoughts, ideas
Is the call too late
Can one stand against the many
Will blood stay tame
Let the brain piece details
Hope this time
The winner
And the best is not what was
But what will be
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