Clearing webs from a hovel a blistered hand on the handle of a shovel
I've been digging too deep, I always do
I see my face on the surface; I look a lot like Narcissus
A dark abyss of an emptiness standing on the edge of a drowning blue
I look behind my ears for the green, and even my sweat smells clean
Glare off the white hurts my eyes Gotta get out of
bed, get a hammer and a nail, learn how to use my hands; Not just my
head, I'll think myself into jail; Now I know a refuge never grows from a chin
in a hand in a thoughtful pose; Gotta tend the earth if you want a rose
I had a lot of good intentions; sit around for fifty years and then