Jonathan ROBIN (22 September / London)
Who stands on chance advance is swiftly lost,
gist takes in haste, to waste wakes, misdirection
where errors' terrors tremble counting cost;
yet yin yang spins win/win from circuit section.
To take up arms against a sea of struggles
sounds fair enough, of such stuff dreams are made,
but cause/effect consideration juggles
may role-reverse fame's game however played.
True speculation, [s]ta[l]king stock in hand,
despite clock's second thoughts, can offer cue
to tune up creativity, expand
from late wait's weight to wings which span worlds new.
Where turmoil steam's stream channelled on the boil,
there poet shuffles off [c]old mortal coil.
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