You goad my waxen pathology
As Zeus sculpting lightening bolts.
You a maverick, and I, the source
Of your vigil, your love of dissension
Of wild things and I cannot hew
Your heart anymore than I can erase
Our combined initials from the old oak
Where you once mended us.
If your tongue were a vise
I might not stray so often
Into the eel like passages
Of my own personal narrative.
Depression marches on
No matter how many splints
Or tourniquets you apply
I bleed for it still.
Society exterminates saints.
For all the beauty
There is always a man
Willing to condemn it.
Perhaps we are not
Ready for beauty?
Too quick to medicate,
I chew these inedible tablets
As a cow revisits
The same piece of turf.
Between us who knows more
About their function in life?
Whose instincts serve them?
I for one have lost the cadence
The earth does not speak to me
As she once did, only the weather
By which I mean, that I am
Continuously pummeled
By the skirts of happenstance
And inertia and if a dance
I would be the evacuation
Of inward-facing chairs
mindlovemisery 