Surpassing Strange

The gift of foresight is a poison without antidote.
Instead of living in the moment, at one with stars,
The pleasures of your past & knowing nothing lasts,
And something bitter without taste, dead without
Ever living, destroys the present, eating it before
It blooms, before we can know the garden or the rose.
I want more than everything, more than all of you.
Instead I feel you slipping away before first meeting;
The look, a glance, first intimation of desire, casts
A shadow through me into tomorrow, next year, miles
Down the open road, a car crash without anything
In sight except the crash, a must without a cause.

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