I never seem to find the rhythm
All my chakras seem to glitch a little
I have opened every window
I have opened all the doors
I close my eyes
To watch the spaciousness of mind
I drop the armor though it’s cold out and I’m freezing my tits off
A tumor the size of a six months old fetus in the belly
Let us go in again
For a panacea
For a cup of tea
Mrs. Bays
Is the house awake yet dreaming?
Little have I bothered you, Father
Never have I called the doctor
To get my act together
I commend the Bushmen of the Kalahari Desert
For a panacea
Letting it all fall away
A tumor the size of a basketball feeding in the belly
Let us think
It away
Think it away
Mrs. Bays
Is the house awake yet dreaming?
Is everyone away?
Or are we profiting from fear of dying?
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