Anyone can bitch.
The art is in listening for the deeper mystery.
The executioner wears a clowns nose
as he slits the throat of your childish love.
You mourn what could have been,
while the rioters remind you of what will always be.
There is a great peace in being broken
being found out as a simple fraud.
A smile, in the humiliation.
Sure it hurts at first
also quite disorientating
but its like when you were a child
you gathered yourself in
and rolled down the hill
you roll and roll, endlessly out of control
the earth rushing madly around your ears
you stand and turn to run but fall straight into the ground
everyone laughs and you flop over on your back spread eagle
and as the clouds and blue sky spin down around you
or is it you…
spinning up in them?
whatever the case, you find yourself
a bright blue spinning freedom
full of clouds, birds and weather.
