What might be the detritus of life without the detritus of idiots?

The smartest in the room
Bewitches with wit
Charms with sweet identity
Laying the honey trap
With dedicated skill
To ensnare those laden
With the detritus of a life
Whose only design is to find purpose
in the willful life of others
They are
strangers to their own prison
blind to shackles
Not even we can see
They march to a beat they don’t hear
Together they are the waylaid
United, a society bent on following
Having forgotten how to be


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