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The Polar Bears' Picnic

Looking at the world
through my hole in the ice
I see the word ritual
scrawled on the door of a church.

Is this that purely human ritual
of wake eat sleep converse
work earn die?

That age long empty practice
called Natural Law - how

natural, that artificial
subcultural self-created reification
of dominant rule.

My sun shines down upon me,
upon the melting ice.
Layer upon layer
palimpsest reality emerges.


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