Vestal virgins play the fools Of a race tripping on Valium and Holidays The prism halo of rose petal minds Issues love mes and love me nots like A maternal bird feeding her insatiate young Uncertain kindred bubble vociferously Like wounds never hardening But always shifting shape and deepening And their pained giggles, shamrock lusts Hit the air like fumes from an oil exhaust pipe If the jolt of epiphany, gratitude and humility That birthed God and Science and Altruism Awakens in the same metamorphosis dawn That palliates the vociferations of curiosity Who can seek and find at once? So it goes that weak poets muse On the symphony of tear drops on cement On infantile gaits and elderly skin Well the strong bathe in gasoline And unashamedly sequester moonlight So it goes that weak painters Try to echo sight through the filters Of a perpetually winding and unwinding mind Well the strong make whoopee most orgiastic And paint on each other's carnal canvasses So it goes that weak farmers Try to draw up the yield With the steady grace of oceans evaporating Well the strong suck the Earth dry And wear remorseless smirks that say "Oh dear, what have I done?" So it goes that the weak try to channel light As though it left the sun, as though it danced As though love could be, and dreams were unreal Well the strong feel the hard truth of illusion Sexy and elusive, slide over their hungry nerves So it goes the weak try To decompose into each other Try to die within something Beyond the harshness of being They try to speak without talking And listen without thinking Well the strong feel each other's bones Announce steady rhythm That will never depart So long as motion keeps moving
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