The Prophet Who Died Before Being Prophetic




I'm going through
garbage hoping to read
my future out of moldy
food and tortured paper.

I'm waiting for my moment to arise.

I squint my eyes
until it's blurry and shaky
so that the mystical
can be unveiled.

I'm waiting for my moment
to arise.

I embrace the universe
or let my embrace be universal,
feeling in sync,
feeling so sick
I'm letting my moment decline.

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