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Oct 2012
Covered in frost from a storm too shy; Bits of you meet my eye

Telling truths from the gut, into the blender of the soul.

It’s just me here now and i’ve got nowhere to go.

All these doctors, all these people

never imagining ends by any means

although I prefer it when it rains,

you make the storm last all week.

Only fools allow puppeteers to negotiate their homes

from their beliefs to their thrones - you are the master of your own.

All a poisonous gas created from and by each other.

It’s a wonder we’re still here

blissfully blinded as the mother.
Nicholas James Berlincourt
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