Consecrations buried firm faithed
This is not to be, this should never be,
Wrapped and loc’ed against everyday paranoia.
Was it true? Was I lying? Did I know?
Was I blind?
Endless turning warming water
The water calm, the breeze
A pleased woman trying to pretend
And underneath, restless stirrings
Don’t shake, don’t rattle. I am lying.
I am trying.
Boisterous indifference, what lies
On the other side of this wall
Of course I care,
For all that I want to care for, for all that I want
A caring man am I.
In the dark you kick, you turn,
The grass greener even before you are
Whose fingers will you grasp
When you know it all, everything.
Vain, imperfect, happy fool,
Tear in my eye.