Toil endlessly
for that sharp second of pleasure...

There is no need to smooth out the terrain-
for who’s heart would bob and burst...

The wavering councillor
decanted diluted aid...

I dropped into to the desperate dogma of a prayer.
Knees buckled on that ancient cathedral floor...

Even fettered as I am now,
the chains are not so bothersome...

Not a step
but a plunge from a precipse...

That tornado is not mine.
My defects are far more elegant...

I admit defeat.
I admit this ragged shawl...

Mother says
‘You look so tired...

Wait.
Listen...

All strings of royal words that bob within my...
have slipped through my mouth and finger tips...

The twelve-inch needle stuck deep,
with my thinning skin sucked around it...