Today is a torture of to'ing and fro'ing.
Yesterday's a question hanging in the moment.
Tomorrow is a tornado's whistle blower.
Will Tragedy slumber us or fold over and flower
in our resolute?

Will we brazen or bruise ourselves when the world harms?
Will we alarm or amuse ourselves from its palm?
Will we balm in half ignorance of the unreckoned?
Or, like a fanged child, beckon?

Has the world crazed or are we in delay?
Is wisdom an answer or beggar's reticence,
charming chance keeper of our business?

Still we clamber affairs,
plying God to attend
like he's not got anything better to do.
Hoorah I say, hoorah to the day and a
full haha and a fuck you too, and a
love for ourselves and our mother's
Who knows
when that toll will trickle from clouds
and make Death,
what we knew.
Life, what we will now
always know.