Leveler Poetry Journal
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17.

The Wages of Life With a Tad of Smoke on the Horizon

 

You came here for the truth

 

but I can’t tell you that

 

things will get better: they may not.

 

All I can tell you is

 

that you brought yourself here, and

 

that you’ll take yourself away. The wolf

 

shouted wolf. The boy shouted

 

boy. Air is illusion

 

and it’s there, in that space,

 

that we call out knowing

 

that we’ve already revealed

 

ourselves for what we never were.

 




Jamison Crabtree