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Shovel your limbs into consistent patterns
As potent as pissing in the ocean
I try to untie knots in my sleep
But the spine's just a snake
That's ashamed of itself
While leading a meditation on poor posture

Oh, there are myths here that you could build
The whole of your duration on
I know there are some I'm sleeping around
That I thought would help with the knots
But end up pulling on both ends

It has all the incidental traits
Of the things you love
But it has no meat
It has no bone

As if what the worms do
As if what the worms do
They only do for you
And what the reptile brain do
It only does for you
Anyone else's job
To try to make sense
Of a graceless painting
In a present tense

(It's an embarrassment that, through mercy, is on borrowed time)

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