while visiting a cave, quite absent of light, i swear i saw your soul
while fiddlin with squirrelly spoons i fell into a hole
of puddin with flavor of nothing, just void in my nose, on my tongue.
the joy of joyness came from here where the love of being in love trickled from.
and the put finger of on it was a crushing stone that left the pointee dust.
changing the hue of something we make is hard with only one crayon.
so the only other color i have is spit, and blood, and my eyes.
always never lasts and hunger rarely stops
the bitter font of letters if i must.