detachment one.

unhinge yourself, and
play the long odds once –
the mystery
is in the knowing why

beside the pond
that still in moonset lays,
the fallacy
that past mistakes will die

or present ones,
or future ones at that –
or present twos,
or twos still yet to come —

so brook no hate,
and sanction it no life:
for few debates
are much more than a scrum

we self-deceive,
our fake ducks in a row.
if you believe,
you know what you can’t know –

do not attach
yourself to way-back-when:
consistency’s
okay, just

now and then

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