The Apothecary of my Soul

I hide in the
apothecary of my soul.
there are shadows,
and they glisten
in the vibrant
marrow colored emptiness
that is the place
which is not my
soul, and is not my heart,
but which surrounds both in their
stead

My friends are the
fireflies, who
find their way in this
endless waterhole
through the gashes of
society.
the caves are lit by
their merriment,
as they tumble in
frustration to the bellowing
depths

Slowly, I rise to the cause
of justice in this humanitarian
melting pot of
crime and of law
and of programs that
capture both and radiate their
incentives.
around me are the components of
everything that could be
good and that could be
bad and that could
take from me the emptiness in which
my soul and heart reside and
become one
in and out of
my muscle tissue

These are the things that
melt in the bliss of
insanity, this whirling mass
that sinks deep into
my veins and corrupts my
hypocrisy for all to
see.
if I,
alone, could just
separate the numbers without
setting off this moon lit
rapture,
without brooding all thoughts
into one insurmountable burst,
raining skies
and mountains on
the vast,
pastoral homeland of our
fathers,

things would be nice,
wouldn’t they?