LIVING... 

at break-neck acceleration, 
  resignation of your apex preservation. 

Funny how now you want to pray. 
   Found faith, underground,
  Under the town grates. 
  
I guess the 
        summit was insufferable. 

Was the top so tumultuous?
Was government so grotesque? 

  And now you meet your new master,
       The monstrosity,
         The beast of burden, 
That jackal-faced juggernaut
    That feasts on your spirit and organs. 

You're a paraplegic in its presence. 


      DEATH, 

the honeysuckle of serenity. 
 
  A symphony of senses 
        filling the nasal   
         passages with 
  hoary stock and gardenias. 

Deep tissue, sinews caressed; 
   pressed with Elizabeth Arden Parfum 
and Jojoba jelly. 

Tastes like 
  butterscotch and vanilla bean cream 
  or
orange and sorrel sorbet 
  or
rainbow fruit candy canes. 

And now you meet your new master,
       The motherly maître d',
         The angel of auspice, 
That kind-faced, kid-like
                 Lilliputian 
   That feeds your spirit and organs. 

You're a powerhouse in its presence. 


             He
            that 
   *loveth his life* shall 
             l o
              s
              e 
              i
              t
              ;


                a n d 
                  he
                 that 
     *hateth his life* shall 
                  ke
                  ep 
                  it 
                  un
                  to 
                  li
                  fe 
             

              *eternal*.