Endlessly I seek
something eternal,
seek the secret things
in dark hints of dust,
but discover only selfishness.
I see only the funeral shroud
of truth
twisted in a lump.
There is an answer
germinating there,
embryonic.
I know.
But I will never see it.
I will never decipher
its miraculous simplicity
until I've dropped my concern
for this flesh,
until I've given up
the white boy's blues.
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