And I am enjoying the sliver of happiness
That I will not wrestle into submission,
That I will not pin it down in some grisly collection
Where I’ve tried in the past to still all my pretty moments,
Fromaldahyd-perfect and dead.
On the wings of an unkind word.
On the breath of a misunderstanding.
On the lark of a drunken brain cell who’s hidden from me
On the pickled and petty malice rearing up in a corrupted moment….
Off with the rooks and ravens, plotting mischief.
I can admit that I’m still afraid of you.