Leveler Poetry Journal
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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