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Havoc, not Heaven



To know the unknown is to lose it.
Every idol is a child.

We worship what's behind us,
because it can't be gotten to,
can't be acquired.

In pursuit of the purest,
compensated with nonsense,
the serpent drowned in effluent.

Nothing is ours:
aware of it, it's gone.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.