Feelin Pretty Psyched

It seems that hindsight is twenty thirty

That is, if blushing onyx cheeks are to be believed.

You would probably rob even

the dead of their dignity.

Coward.

And to you, darling

The politics of panic are rusting your heart

Breathe.

All is quiet

In the absence of leather wrapped feet

daisies push through sidewalk cracks.

If the world ends tonight

and our memory get sprinkled in the stars

I’ll blow bubblegum with the ravens,

wishing that people were were less like pigeons

and more like lions.