Caught on a fault line for the first time
Startled like a tween by the absurdity of being
As I consider life in the confines of past fears
Pacific mountain battery or a death blow to a fig tree
And I stop
Icily maligned in the lamplight
Circling but staid like a compass on a carousel
As conjecture and hope dissipate like steam in
A love that's good and pure and stands on its own
And I stop
Caught from behind this last time
Walking down Turner St. puking up my guts
As I consider life without the soft touch of fig leaves on skin
The sneetch-yellow star, or a death fit for a prince
And finally, I stop considering
