I’m interested in the way your mind is locked. I see no chain. There are no keys. Your simple steadfast determination to be deaf and blind is holding the door shut in its hands. It is never off-guard. Your mind-beast is strange. It doesn't have eyelids. Nor lips or a tongue. It doesn’t breathe or have heartbeat. [It is made of wood. Deep roots like veins bind it where it stands. It’s grown into the door. It is the door. The beast is the door and it refuses to open. The beast is the door and it’s killing your mind; one dead thought one dead dream at a time.]

Immaculate confection
In the market stands.
A sign touts it's perfection,
It wont melt in your hands.
A sacrament for your protection
Back by popular demand.
No less than a Chocolate Jesus
My tender little lambs.

There was a young lady called B
Who had an urgent desire to P
There was no toilet around
So she used the ground
What a sight that was to C

Her hips align with the setting sun,
as outstretched arms dance above her head.

She sways, trying to get lost
in the movement of time.

The rhythm beats, as her heart breathes.
This is all she knows.
This is all she has left.

She dances to remember.
She dances so they won't forget.
This is all they have left.

I talked to an 77-year-old man who was washing the windows at Pizza Hut today.
He was young and so happy.
He was kind.
And wise.
He was rich.
He had no money.
He had nice eyes.
He was going blind.
He had a beautiful smile.
His teeth were rotten.
His name was Jerome.
And all he wanted to do was help people.
He taught me so much in 6 minutes.