I Am Not A Fool
And This Is Not The Fool’s Journey.
O Curse Of Dan,
I Know The Master Plan
I Know The Gnostic Trap You Laid For Me.
I Don’t Have Rivers
Named After Me
High Rise Trees Providing
Cool Shades
For The Way-Farer’s Sleep
Or A Stone Pillow For Jacob’s Dream.
Our Love Is A Wasteland Of Promises In Vain
Of Past
Of Present
Of Future
Nothing
Rotting
Quietly
In My Palms.