Everything passes, everything changes
Just do what you think you should do
Twain's hermenautical understanding
of Mighty Mississip's shifting silty
sands was an amazing feat of reading
between the river's flow lines, receding
waters, and anchored bodies of guilty
Blacks qua Blacks, gamblers caught underhanding.
H. of the pre-Socratics would aver
that you can't enter the same river twice;
it's a phenomenological thing
having to do with flow and superstring
theories; mere truisms would never suffice --
not for my ancient, nagging Muse, not her.
What's the sense of changing horses midstream
if the fuckin river's just a bad dream?
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