I can see there's an urgency behind your eyes this morning, every morning,
that of which burns as blue as the secret apple there.
That pilot light that pilots.
That lighthouse on a pillar of barnacles surrounded by a jagged ocean.
The torch with its glowing orb edges like the lights and stars that Vincent painted so perfectly.
Maybe I need a circus?
There I could show the world my gift,
how I can swallow butterflies and burp rainbows.
Don't be a mouse, be a lion
