Handle the empty with some bold fullness
of balancing equations steadily,
finitely dancing around another
one of Lifes mad, provoking obstacles.
Pull out pitchers perfect, prompt emptiness
and pour out nothing over readily
available psychic heart structures
as seen through Lifes mad, x-ray spectacles.
Take ways down safer than a soft carress
aside a cliffshorn shoreline, steadily
again dancing, romancing the ruptures,
the Cliffs unforgiving, rocky Shackles.
Even in Death we find Life looking back
with an Evil grin that says "Never crack".
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