In the circus of sentience, 

stumbling towards the provenance

of the primordial pain, 

a haunting in search of an origin, 

as a lunar manoeuvre 

marks the deck, so we can

play pretend, as we 

bevel and splice, that 

the trickster won't tinker 

with the dice, but will

shapeshift instead into 

a makeshift saviour, armed

with all the ancillary 

answers we'll simply 

have to deem first-rate,

just because they taste, 

for a moment, like escape.