how glorious it is that we recall the most soft places as the careful goings on
the ability to fall in front of eye-witness goddesses and lose your clothes to the ether
trudge though any numbers of dirt, getting your skin full of filth, or worth
the turmoil exacted by an irresponsible world
our thankfulness recorded to the bright wake opaque sky
white, blue, and as many other possible shades
using our heat to light burnt furnaces
putting out the wicks of kingdoms
separating truth from fact, spooning with panic
that monster is in total
it has long leafy dreads and seven heads and only answers to laughter
five thousand smiles that continue for miles until it's accepted as madness
a million legs that stretch on for days for the sake of its own bad step
and the feet of the few that have done as i do, and the words that have rhymed with the creptÂ
how fortunate for us that have spoken
relieving ourselves against frays of fine damage
finding how much or how little we can manage
i have seen the long knife swing its way though heads of cabbages
i've been worried and hurried by the horse-drawn carriages
a desperate heartfelt caricature
going about the ages
comfortable in the ashes
but the inward, the inward beckons out to you like mirrors
makes fools of itself in honor of your foils
slaps together lipsticks and speaks like you or i do
it waits for the first moment it can lie to and wave goodbye to
the inward's a familiar creature
it does not speak loudly or ask
it subtly requests the worst and the best
settling the rest at its dinner
and being fullÂ