From the bosom of your dream
to the crack of your asshole.
Not that either
are sexy,
or unsexy,
or here nor there.
But when things go to shit
you stretch for metaphor.
Pretend, deny
believe, absolve.
Cubic zirconium,
making life more real
for the masses.
Some of us don't list after shiny tings.
We simply cringe
into the crack of our ass
or our bosom
as a matter of fact.
We pretend.
We deny.
We believe.
We absolve.
Our doll playing days
never subside.
Like children to our death,
we imagine salvation,
sticking eternity with a fork,
Mastication.
Can we chew our way to sanity,
Like the least of those we despise?
Rats, roaches,
our own trajectory
when free
and young of heart
Finds home
peace
the fabric of the real.
Indus,
Ganges,
Tigris,
Euphrates,
Mississippi,
with a nudge from a lover
at sunrise,
to remember the beauty.
We all cringe in our bosom,
and crack our own ass.
But why should we stretch our metaphor?
Our beauty,
is the fable.