If
rain thirst drought
as
drought serves no man,
will
mankind free his inhibitions then,
allowing
tears of iniquity to flush far each his sin?
A
sad civility
reckons, burdens sorrow
retracting solace,
from
the disheartened soul
replacing
its hollow vacancy
with
and unquenchable flushing
There
be dangers in and around every prick of pin-
ascertaining
direction yet to befall the saddles burrowed
deep
within the skin—carrying with it the karmic code to
dusted
indistinguishing, forging forth the iron mitt, whose
sole
inebriety is to chafe reminders and refashion the flesh impaired
If
rain thirst drought
as
drought feeds man,
will
mankind drown, upon the
tears
of joy there he finds?
