Reality to me
Nothing to awe at
Something to paw at
Poke at with my awl
Only all I give is hell
Reality something malleable
Like kids hands rolling moulding balls of marla.
Creation myths the mata
Punctuation lips the fada
Barely lift my bucket so much water
Barely lift my blade so much slaughter
I’m on the train like a sarin gas cloud
My look fries them, crowd part stand apart
Stand up artist how much they larf
Standard bearer I lead the path
My carafe sloshes imported bouquets.
Alchemisland 
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