Being a conversation with a future Dreamt of an error upon a quad Realizing fellowship has not as yet begun Distances reeling from the madness of approach Familiarity such that one foregoes the malice of time To succor and men to rancor; there is no power In love and it is certainly most upsetting That logic and equanimity are run through with intelligence Pigs only able to stand, bleat, and follow mightily Inconceivably imagining rubes of the loneliness industry Belay the Ainur, for purpose Is lost to the glassed sands tilled by paramours Always forgetting that kindness to earth and heart Is the only currency of an examined life