Which came first, the hermit or the cracking of the world's
illusion? Never mind, it doesn't matter.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it though. But in the
inhalation following such a mournful sigh arrives this further insight:
no longer does it hold undying interest. The world is just a
sideshow thought to be the main attraction, but it's not—I am.
Listen, the wind is whispering through mid-September
branches that the sun is going nowhere.
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