always looking out
never looking in
availing me so,
I musn’t begin

broad smile,
not a tear to be shed
Your Mind
ever seemingly fed

what can I do?
to Force your eyes wide,
noticing the importance to see
not just for me

Jaw rusted shut
implications shading absolution
should tongue’s shackle break,

awaiting The Remark
to paint you a fool,
availing prophecy
those words drone true

heart strings ache
foreseeing
our cubbies tumble and quake

pitted muttering rings again
Consciousness lurks in The Fog
existence:
concerning not,
Purpose, a fleeting thought

a lighthouse I am,
through vessels never follow
their bellies shockingly hollow

To Fry
our alabaster shells:
Crippled,
by mankind’s burden
a miniature sun
nestled in a basin.