the tender hearted sloth
inebriates me
telling me all sorts
of stories
that can never be true
like a fool
i drink the wine
thinking it a delicious feast
from God
well, maybe it is,
said She, from behind the veil
maybe the sour taste in your mouth
is but the sign of immaturity,
still wanting to be fed
your mother's milk
the bottle on the table now
is very old,
the stories you drink
have made men blind
for years
thinking even their families
were against them
today
the bottle is empty
the tender hearted sloth
has nothing left in his bag
just wind
every song has been played
all there ever was...
was a circling of air
from beginning to end
just a circle
no matter how slow
or how fast,
you are held fast
to the circle,
always
on the road
Home....
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