sitting
at the bottom
of a well

everything looks so small from down here.

as a close acquaintance to nothing
I can tell you that time is relative to
the steps I take towards a biological death
but not the wrath and reaping in-depth
well-lit and liked
by a narrow spoonful of silver moonlight.
were it so easy to call it
death
but down here time remains bereft

cobblestones worn smooth
...

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duplicitous: insidious
commandments devils left with us
freedom of rebellion in speech, walk and thought
spur and silence fellow hellions with our own hell wrought

wrung wine from winged pixies and amputees alike
pickled brine of the dreams of moonmen holding a knife
home surgery, red baron caught too close to outer space
we didn't like his scowl so we rearranged his face

honor bound, ...

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when death finds me I should hope that it is only once, or at least as few times as possible. In my wake I leave a legacy of multicolored actions, a mosaic as imperfect as I have been. My measure is not in my greatness, nor is it my morality, but instead the wreckless pursuits of empathy most often built in spite of myself, last minute and at great expense.'

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