of our souls
our mask is worn and weathered
from its daily rouse
there's ringing in my ears
crying in my head
tear the cotton out!
i want to hear loud and clear
the crisp air of appalachia
torment and disillusion
are the seed of creativity
the urge to conform, the urge to run
siamese twins unsevered
freedom!
a droplet on your tongue
do not taste it, do not swallow
lest you crave the whole of it
dec. 2000