Aug 8, 2008

 

A custom is a costume--
Suck of breath at your breast
as you suck at mine.

What is real? Words are water.
Time is air. What music untrue?
The wind refuses to divine.

All the workings of a bird
will die and death become its cage--
Every flower, guilded.

There is no artifice, in vice.
Serene the lamp, and naked.
Virtue is easy; work is hard.

Of course the blind are wise--
What is a dress, if not mind?