Success breeds, it grows, it shrivels, it slows,
Protozoan state returning
Sometimes there is but little we can do.
We are limited by the definitions we propagate
I am but man,
Flesh & bone,
I am still
In an afternoon of bitter bright,
The goblets are empty, have been so, for some time now,
Since the first and last, happy tragedy to experiment,
Where are they now? Where did they go? How and Why?
Exterior golden still- yet dusty inside,
Lack of use, too much worry filling that one,
When atrophied, clouds of pepper light, color the eyes each night
Before bedtime-Before the mares run free-enveloping-kicking