Admit that it would be better,
a-okay to summit, summit,
summit our faults with the lamp on and the window
closed.
Tint in the light and shade in the dark.
Defeat the bleak with cigarette smoke.
Spiral into my hair, tentacle disease.
Prepare the weeds to contain and ease
up rusted metal and the black-turn-green
markings on flesh and skin.
Next to a-okay, beside the magazines
and behind the dictionary.
Strike the gavel and strike the faded-yellow pages.
Strike the marble with palms open, drunken on spirit.
Everyone can follow the horror of knowing
life and children will be a-okay.
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