We should get a drink and untangle the myriad vines
intertwined in our Autumn on a thorn’s errand.
We should go where the agonies are barren
and as toothless as hoops in a guillotine
drenched in Olive Oil and murmurs
muttering the future to slow things drinking
and we shall have our towers built
by the tall stones of our ingenious remedies
that focus Hope through
Impenetrables-
as often as
Snow.

and our Tales
are not Lies
that we Know, that
We Know.

We should open the box
with the open mind
To see what’s
Outside.
Enlist the aid of
our feral Want-
Cajoling Night Terrors
into the Light-
of our ice blue
Reveries.

We should think about
muddling mint
at the bottom of
the Sea.

a cloud with
no face...

that hasn’t
been any face

Has been every Face

All the
While.

All the
Time.

Like We,