Your tendencies are as torn as your sheets.
Dodging the light,
You dissaray your own seeming.
Pages are fleeting
the doctor pleads
You must find a new cover.
At your outset you knew love
You knew three colors of it
Yet you’ve settled for sand
Swimming through your clenched fingers
Making you believe
A castle will make itself
With a drawbridge of coral and peace.
You must take up hammer and nail
Perform the dance of daily grease
They tell you it sickens them, but
You are as human as
The hand that holds your text together.
Cast a line into
The light of your evening dew
The fish will bite all the better
For your resemblance to tree.