Those times, down in the mouth, moping around, the sun, unabashed magnificence, glory-bound, bouquet spread over clouds and water-ways, transfixes and, but how, with all my shambles, it shines on me.
Despite the horror — sequestered within — I feel the sun beneath dead skin; I see light beyond scaled lids; and press and press, with primordial wings, to lose this exoskeleton.
God, you were the one to fear — the one cause worth sacrificing for. What do you mean? “It’s all in your hands.” What are you saying? “You wish for my fulfillment.” For what use, my sacrifices? You don’t want me to sacrifice at all. You’ve ruined all my plans. You’ve stollen my thunder. Oh, and it is so embarrassing when you anoint my crown and stick the well-prepared fattened calf under my nose and lord it up with everyone. You raining sunlight on the just and the unjust. You don’t understand. You are out of control.