i am a poet

Except

We are the victor and the enemy

The pained

the inflicter

Clear in our self, somewhere

The Universe ticks on

steady, or so they say

Yet the quiet holds the key

Muddle, trouble, sin, safety

mixed up words and delicate canons

The harpsichord twinkling softly in the background

comfort? ominous?

Strength, wisdom, truth

but hurry hurry, frazzled self on the line

Comfort, find comfort

Know the rhythms of 3

Remember your manners. 

Whatever you do, do not think.