Yes, you were there this morning
the throbbing, innermost part of you
self renowned delicate little prodigy
all the lies you've spun around your gut
to keep your soul intact, all rickety
This morning I threw you off the mountain
in a way that you exploded into shards and pages
mirrored glimmerings of silver, you weren't dead
until you hit rock, and you still weren't dead
and then the vultures starting circling
and I left you as an entree, baking in the sun
oh, the little red knob inside of you
oh, the mask you wear to cover the scabs
it's somewhere now,
Good morning, prosperity, good morning
growth.
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