Deteriorating Facsimile [Combatwords Repost, March 12, 2011]
Admit it, you've suffered reversals.
Desire, so the Buddhists declaim,
Is the root of one's woe as if life
Were a trifle. It's huge. It's the only
Certainty, other than death.
But love is as likely as dinner,
As likely as children—they're us
But they're smaller; repeating our lives.
We diminish each time and forget
Failures: we copy and shrink,
Then we're gone
And then vanish.
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