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To formulate upon your plate
The needed state to deviate
From what would otherwise be your fate
Don’t hesitate — procrastinate?
No, levitate, over that gate!
And out of those blasted, plaguing straits
While others they wait and cogitate
You descry confusion and translate
The incorrigible beat of the sun’s heart rate
And the time and date you contemplate
As it twists the arm in a fierce stalemate
On a sliding scale one must navigate
Cards held to the chest as your eyes dilate
Yet the fickle finger it does dictate
A story so far only you narrate

Full of pain and pleasures that tessellate
Whilst wrestling Moirae on a true blind date
On a spinning plate you skitter and skate
An axel jump as the hips gyrate
A lift and a lunge with life’s teammates . . .
Forever more in a figure of fate.