So this is how I see the inside
With one eye on the second chance
Think on of the good stuff
The greens, the rye, the chicory, the tea
Displace the alcohol, the tablets
And the mean streak of self-inclusion
The confused latent mind needs to re-engage
To find a point from where to begin
To find its own clean sheet of paper
Its own still wilderness to walk in
At the fresh time of dawn, barefoot
On the dewdrops, under the last of the stars
Listen to the bloods circulation
Feel the tingle; the numb spots, the cringe
Of closed veins, there like the potholer caught
In the deepest darkest cavern
As the oversized trout slides down
The hungry heron's throat; gulp, catch
Another breath, it's far too soon
To even think of letting go
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