[line breaks might not occur in the right places when viewed on mobile devices]

all sorrows end with a passage of burn burn burn, a slow whimper, a drawn
moan like black wizard-moths in a cloud wing blaze as it occurs to you
you question, why crumble when you can create shine, blind! forget
precious souls for what is it all in the end but a little heart
a little notch another mark, another smile and all the pretty little dimes and you
cross the road, keel over, sit—cross-legged perspiring under the sun, it burns
blink twice, but no more, for in a blink a thousand snapshots return
and in a chasing frenzy a pause, an innocent rest. a drip of sorrow—your old friend—
visits, gold and fine and ever so tragically beautiful but beauty, you find
in any delectable angle of a body, threads of prism colored lies, perhaps—
you can find beauty in a line of ants climbing their little mountain anthill descending
disappearing one, one, one syncopated march or in a glittering stream
trout leaping and catching the sun in shock sparks why wait, why linger
and yes, why lament when possibility and positivity rattle inside toy chests
of both gone past and coming eager to take you maybe tease, torment but isn’t it
worth it, the terror which seizes you but fades one quiet day

——