If you can’t stand the heat,
says the one with the fan,
but even he is an hallucination.
Had I missed this turn of the wheel,
what matter?
Someone else would have gone to war,
another might have written peace haikus,
many more could have done my work,
it is all simply chopping wood,
it is all no more than carrying water,
it is not mysterious,
the thing we call our life.
I think for a moment
on my poetry fans,
on my own eventual nonexistence.
Does the earth fall from my feet?
Must I reach for my balance?
No, I go on.
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