284.

The illusion of
happiness, such a hopeless
narcotic, teasing.

283.

And in a blink, the
anchors of sorrow settle
deep within my throat.

282.

Condensation and
gentle heat's pressure enfolds
us in its embrace.

281.

The weight of feelings
holds them down within the fold
of harsh memory.

280.

All too often the
inescapable nature
of action taunts me.

279.

Caught in the dervish
of dreams thought, chased, and sometimes
even half realized.

278.

And on the empty
chase for illusion and gain
is taught kids today

under another
purported auspice of good
ole theology.