And the world lives,
even when people die,
people lie,
people sigh,
people lie,
meet a girl,
meet a guy,
meet their faces,
meet their lives,
they meet, somebody’s wives,
somebody’s friends,
somebody’s acquaintances,
maybe with a dagger,
with a knife,
sharp a canine tooth,
or smooth the surface of silken wool,
and their hammer,
their tools,
and with all them rules,
made of rubber, paper, plastics
and weak morals,
you touch, they shudder,
you let go, they shatter,
from up our necks to the clanking ground,
you question them, they will never, be found.
I like that sound,
bold and profound,
For the world still lives.
Anyway.
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