What page
is this? This is the sugar page.
Stripped
bare to the purity of nothingness.
Where
winter writes whatever the hell it wants,
Enveloping
us in crystalline messages, unbeknownst.
This is
the page we attract when we've dropped the reins.
Feast on apples, or fast, forever indebted to agriculture.
A clear head is promising, and a promise I made to myself.
Sugar in the blood, Sweet Jesus and Holy Mary--
may I always smile knowing I am safe in this red heaven.
River of knowing, robust Rubicon that if I cross
I must be firm in upholding. Standing upright like I am-
no monkey meddling in abstract magic or finger paints or such.
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