Page Thirty-Two

Correctness is a tipped toe left

to wonder if right was tight,

in saying's theft.

Serpent slithers demised,

down shouldered satchel;

Saved sustenance draped.

Destination dinner scaped.

Avian aviator head's the helm,

by fag's pull and gripped hair,

smiling knowledge beyond realm,

grinning wide, blanking stare.

and with the desert we were.

littler than before,

shadowed by the barren brightness.

Tones and Hues dancing to their own glow;

Color's blissful children,

Burned to life in the Great light's glare.

OFF WITH THE HEAD!

LET THIS WORLD SEE US DEAD!

and when silence find a sizzle we shall dine together

face the divine together.

Break bread of the day,

and drink moon's shine together,

'til we answer slumber's call

untethered.