It was a good day
And the sun ran round the rabid tree
And no thought could stop
The grabbing of an unfamiliar green
And no introspection could
Stop the car’s mighty engine
And its desire to maim and mince
And kill
No extrospection could make a timing
Belt dance and squeal
Or the yellow leaves make felt for a
hand to feel
Cross is the wet eye that has decided
before it lands
on a course of action
Or the definition that bends its hands
Enemies, eye and me
You have to feel around again
Now and again
If you want to and forget to see
Beauty is Imperfection 