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It isn't fair to say
he thought he was God.
It's more that he couldn't tell
that he wasn't. Every day
he acknowledged his confusion
which was worsening as he
grew into senility and everything
began to merge into a cosmic blur.
The world isn't broken into
rough hard edges,
he would say. Smooth,
and round and cloudy,
he would rub his forehead
and gently chant.