Teaching Sincerity

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poem is about nobody in particular

great teacher,
though she couldn't teach sincerity,
you see you have to first master it yourself
snag it in the silky shadows of yourself
but it travels at the speed of time...
how to make a time snare,
only the shaman know
but they're all dead or dying
at least the good ones are,
the ones who used to spread mud over the skin of life
to purify it
back in the infancy of time


now everything is made of plastic
wrapped in sable
you can't teach sincerity
or can't snare time,
nor hide the stench of plastic

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