you become clear
                        with the final folly
of it all,
              the spark of intuition
still flickering
                        in the ashes
of ancient thought,
                           the lyricism
that remains
                in the dead letter
of stale epics,
                   undercurrent of truth
in their lies.
                  thinkers have retreated
into faded ideas,
                         heroes can only be found
in farces,
          but you return
to fresh formlessness
                             when all other feelings
have failed,
                becoming the extravagant enigma
you were before time began.

                                       complete decay
has restored our innocence.
                               i see you
with the hallucinatory clarity
                                          of a biblical prophet.
but i only want to outwit
                                     the world
with the alert aplomb
                             of my senses
not restore your power
                              and tyranny.