21

For me, empthy is an escape from the weight of being,

An attempt to regain my 21 grams:

Every dream is a grand opera,

with the hypnotic voice of an Indian liberator

beckoning me down the road:

My eyes focus on a fork;

Right, and my dreams fade
Like winter reclaiming the summer meadow;

But if left, I begin to wreak of wonderland's isolation:

I long to regain my 21 grams.

For I can only rejoice in celebration

When these stones have finally feathered

(c) 2011