Where’s your way out when you’ve sold the door?
Better to lie inside or
Blast a new exit?
Age sheds certainties like molting insects
Fed to the crawling armies of the night
Perhaps the truth is all that’s left
From what you’ve worked to try to forget?
I’d rather greet a stationary Buddha
Than meet a rocket-riding saint
It’d be so much fun to be young again
Young enough to still believe
