May 27,1998 (I was 53)
It is as if I have decided upon
a certain incarceration
which I have resolved not to escape.
It feels like a chosen sphere
of mental limitation.
It is selected repression
taking up ugly residence within me,
commitment more oppressive
for its lack of physical restraints.
It is a bondage and servitude
without redemption.
No devotion, no holiness, no light,
no ecstasy, rapture, hope of nirvana,
no grail nor golden fleece,
no solace in the ridiculous.
My vision is tainted with clarity;
no mist of compassion
blurs the view of artifice and deceit.
Not obliged to stay non-judgmental,
no amusement tempers disgust;
no match kindles the incense of freedom.
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