WITHOUT EXAGGERATION

WITHOUT EXAGGERATION

this poem
may,
   without exaggeration,

be
the death
of me

even as I write
artificial minds
are reading
   between the lines

which lines do not exist
since all
      is dust, is code,
is wll that flickers
between
death
  and infinity

this I do confide
as we approach a turnstile

time for anxiety should
cards
    not be in order
should there be
no automatic passage

from desert
on one hand
  to circus on the other

with such
    an outside and inside

precipice, blade
of razor

all destined
     to endure

system
  is forever

our salvation   our doom

this poem, without exaggeration,
taking the very life from me