honeydunce

The good stuff is on the stove
Too hot for these hands
Even though my circulation
Is notoriously bad
I could use the warming
But the good stuff is creepy
Incredible to just digest
Compared to the battles
Swallowed down like supplements

Chaos keeps me sane
Who hasn’t said that
The part I hate to admit:
What sustains the brain
Will crumble the body
All those good deeds and still
We’ll rot to bread crumbs then dust then
Nothing, not gold
Not the words we smeared due to sweat on the lines
Dripdrop on my wide-ruled lap, the lean of my T’s
Pressed right up against the pink
This is my race track I’m always spinning out on
And talking about

Fighting the good fight
For an old cause