Winkless Crumble
Tight about the past—
transparent glass panes,
stained and cracked
by crooked, wicked lies.
Sacred are these settled energies.
They muddle about,
never lifting their feet.
I mean higher than the next—
higher than anything else.
Tether thyself to greatness.
Witness its greatness,
or keep thinking
in the same tones you speak in.
There is no treatment—
only the fight
against debilitating sickness.
You hold it together
with shoestring,
scotch tape,
and wink-less nights
working alongside the sabbath,
long past first light.
Long double-shift shiftiness
into the only off day.
No longer tis old boulder—
a new obstacle
has been waiting for me.
I urgently need
the percentile damage increase.
If my awakened visions
lie in legitimacy,
or if they’re just
daydreams re-sold—
Sandman’s regift,
passed down,
along beside me,
and made well past due.
What use is standing upon
business if it’s business
encroaching on you?
It’s not impossible—
but the benefit
must be mine
before I just give it to you.
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