To capture the feeling
To feel its pulse
To see the stream has been muddied
I am reshaping the start
I cannot be bothered with your
Earthly pleasures
All these rantings and ravings
Have nothing to do with poetry
Have nothing to do with magic
Only the ears of butterflies
And birds
And the delicate moths
Matter.
Let the Angels in
Let them into this Market
Now
Feel, see and breathe.