Yet to be Determimed


He ticked when he should have tocked.
His cosmic filter was off kilter.
Reality was distorted.
He had been transported to a place he often consorted.
On some level things had been sorted.
Or perhaps he had been shorted,
on his true undertaking.
Maybe the undertaker was clearing,
a pathway to his maker.
For debts that were past due.
This left lots for him to chew.
As inside a panicky breath he drew.
For within was cooking a mystical brew.
He sensed there was something he must do.
But this was yet to be determined.

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