all the stages of bizarre
why I did not de-shell,
I do not know
My only answer is
"Well, it was an odd time"
And when will it be a
normal time? Seven kinds of
"I'd do it differently"
Seven planes of
wincing
Someone told me I was born
to struggle and to yearn
Well, I'm fucked up,
But I haven't the heart to
drink and smoke and fuck
my way out of this pain
Because when I'm moving fast
I'm grinning
and when I'm laying in bed
I'm laughing
and in between the yearning
I feel like a hundred sunflowers are bursting
from the crown of my head
I've never felt so caught in the river
Never so rooted in soil
Never so much on fire
never so higher
Who is the enemy
and which is reality?
The bike-bound giddy
or the stuck-under-bed-bleating?
Like a shaven lamb I've lost several pounds
and gained a journey of fields
Somehow I feel a little more limited
defined by 'confessional'
What do I confess, charlatan?
That I was duped, endangered
like my poor whale brothers with spears in their sides
The innocent ones are murdered
The curious ones are studied
The wide eyed ones are slaughtered
Tell me, are you better than the killers?
And just like that,
I'm unchained again
blissful, spirited, exuberant
I always was and always am
even in the shadow of my brow
There is a small girl
dancing behind me
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