Why refine a fire
Why stay when you can leave
Why summit up on marble stairs,
when the dirt trail’s just ’round here.
/
It’s narrow and it’s winding,
you’ll trip and scrape your knees.
All the while wondering
why bad things come in threes.
/
For every stiff goodbye,
a stranger grabs your hand.
They’ll help you over roots and thorns
then leave you where you stand.
/
It’s messy and it’s restless.
It’s painful and it’s shit.
It ruins your nice makeup
while you say you’re over it.
/
The gift was being seen,
reminded you exist,
was daydreaming and fantasy,
when you know you won’t be missed.
/
The summit is not real.
The stairs lead you to nowhere-
all rigid, smooth and kind,
all straightforward and fair.
/
The trail’s the only place
you’ll feel some kind of rush.
Then grapple, pine and settle
for another stranger’s touch.
PLUTO BLOOMING 