A Finer Divide
A hypocrite, relentless tick
That only finds suffrage in
The deadening night and
The all-seeing moon
That creeps around corners
And squashes his hopes
Into the stoners
While alone – is all I want
Yet it’s all I have
But the tick repeats
Refolds, unfolds to the beat
A space and a time
Fill it, or your mine
With no moss mutilation
Just the frustration
Of existence
Of being
And of seeing the tick happy
In the sunnier shade
Of pines beneath mountains
And mountains beneath sky
Where I yearn to overflow
And swish it below
My clenched tongue
-Nikky Martalt
