Can your mind sustain the burden
for the beating heart to heave?
Will you bare the heaviness of being
within a lightness of the form?
Does the little weevil relent as the sun
drops in a pallid gray sky?
As you hum dirges by ashen colored coffins,
do you peek under the black drapes
to grasp death’s unfurled black hand?
Do you care for harmony, or does chaos
in the moment feed your soul?
Without a frown, without any remorse,
with a sprightliness and lightness in the twilight.
Does the moment make you pause
to laugh while others cry?
Would you eat Steak Tartare knowing it’s
unsafe? How is it made?
Descry with your tongue, a salted lick from
ripe pears and taste the tears of the dying.
The voyeur of listening strains to hear the beauty
through the fumes of a burning heart.
I live with my pen, I’ve found peace here,
in a meadow enjoying the outer limits.