why not stutter in
the midst of admiration
and send wind to
the sails of merchant
ships
and burst as song
from the lungs of lovers
and boast as an
ass would


solicite the ways of
the voyuer to
the goraphobe
and one might
find glorious mirth


why not laugh at the
act of laughing
or weep in the midst
of weeping
or choke on the sobs
that scramble from your
lungs
and sin when given
a chance to be pure
or be pure in
the midst of the
infinite sinning