There are stars that never rise or fall
Offering ample cover from the trickster
Gamboling the rushes with a tambourine,
The percussive cymbals in three degrees .
The dimple deepens with the curling smirk
For the dying kings swallowed by darkness,
Black holes patient for every random star,
Tangerine sunsets after the harvest .

Ouroboros shrinks into quarks abuzz
Regardless of amber snapshots of gist
And the painted minstrel marks the folly
Of the crouching predator in plain view .
The jester clutches madness as the only
Answer since the prey only prolongs fate,
Always snipping at beleaguered fare
Not sussing that hope is also genetic .

*[ WSB ]_.