Epilogue: Lies

by Mike Allen

In the end they're all consumed,
just as you and I, in that world or our own
are fodder for the heartless sun
that crushes all with chariot wheels,
its dream-slaying curtain drug behind
to show us our true predators
are close at hand, close as our hands,
as the blocking we follow on this slum-rot stage
when our gazes cannot fix upon the stars —
we play our parts
and pray our strands of plot won't end
until the night begins again,
the tales resume.

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