When the thing before
the mind’s eye looms,
Breathe deep and rebuke
the death-head’s doom.
Will the will to will-not not.
If only by fake reason
may false reason be deked,
Then, so fake away,
fake away,
‘Til the doomings crack and crumble
So Samson, from his captors
In the jarring jumble did escape.
His spirit rose withal.
poetastrophy 