Vestal virgins play the fools
Of a race tripping on Valium and Holidays
The prism halo of rose petal minds
Issues love mes and love me nots like
A maternal bird feeding her insatiate young
Uncertain kindred bubble vociferously
Like wounds never hardening
But always shifting shape and deepening
And their pained giggles, shamrock lusts
Hit the air like fumes from an oil exhaust pipe
If the jolt of epiphany, gratitude and humility
That birthed God and Science and Altruism
Awakens in the same metamorphosis dawn
That palliates the vociferations of curiosity
Who can seek and find at once?
So it goes that weak poets muse
On the symphony of tear drops on cement
On infantile gaits and elderly skin
Well the strong bathe in gasoline
And unashamedly sequester moonlight
So it goes that weak painters
Try to echo sight through the filters
Of a perpetually winding and unwinding mind
Well the strong make whoopee most orgiastic
And paint on each other's carnal canvasses
So it goes that weak farmers
Try to draw up the yield
With the steady grace of oceans evaporating
Well the strong suck the Earth dry
And wear remorseless smirks that say "Oh dear, what have I done?"
So it goes that the weak try to channel light
As though it left the sun, as though it danced
As though love could be, and dreams were unreal
Well the strong feel the hard truth of illusion
Sexy and elusive, slide over their hungry nerves
So it goes the weak try
To decompose into each other
Try to die within something
Beyond the harshness of being
They try to speak without talking
And listen without thinking
Well the strong feel each other's bones
Announce steady rhythm
That will never depart
So long as motion keeps moving
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