Ho, the past,
so present in my infinity
Wearing the face of fear, hope and resentment.
So cautious in conversing with it -
that it's wild nakedness
Becomes tainted with intellect.

I can put my finger on it now
I touch with my naked wildness
And childlike seeds of warmth
Yet the clinical intellect
Twists my arms
It is sad.

Something of my core
Something of your core
Is still so sore.

Ho arrogance,
Somewhere along the way
a tailored suit contained the wild.
in self-knowing fashionable shrouds.

It is a grotesque masquerade
In which we see eye to eye
With analytical spectacles
That bind us
As they cloud our vision
And divide us.

This is a sad sad song
an endless
end.