Maybe Libation

Something like a layover, cul-de-sac,
luggage lost in the system, no insurance;

On a tightrope jugglers forget the missing net
diving headlong after bowling pins
into screaming crowds of mothers and children.

In physics, even botched results are labeled experiments
chances to learn, process, form new theories;
life has no time for hypotheses – no Docetist laboratory
where soul and body conjoin briefly.

Under a gnostic wigwam, peace vape smoking,
honest protesters haggle for front line access
though line cutters seldom regard rules for queues kindly
niggling satisfaction can be gained in herbivoric
distillation, third stomach murmuration, maybe libation.

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