The decades gyrate
like a crooked ferris wheel
in a colorless carnival
where the drunk and blind
throw baseballs at cloth cats,
toward the black future
that will take back
every hue we have been loaned.
You did not know that?
Yet you have been warned,
everything made for you to play with
was cast in sorrow
and engraved with a mark
not that of the maker.
You must wipe away
the accumulation of oil
to know the truth.
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