My Eyes, Those Sluts, Those Whores, Would

Stop The Darkness And Its Amputations And Find The Real Mccoy In The Private Holiness Of My Hands.

I Would Like To Think That No One Would Die Anymore If We All Believed In Daisies But The Worms Know Better, Don't They? They Slide Into The Ear Of A Corpse And Listen To His Great Sigh.

I Find Now, Swallowing One Teaspoon Of Pain, That It Drops Downward To The Past Where It Mixes With Last Year’s Cupful And Downward Into A Decade’s Quart And Downward Into A Lifetime’s Ocean. I Alternate Treading Water And Deadman’s Float.

Even Without Wars, Life Is Dangerous.

Put Your Ear Down Close To Your Soul And Listen Hard.