Dusty Lace Spun Round and Round

Violet incense on the air
Existential absurdity
Dusty lace curtains everywhere
And a bloodstain on the carpet
Like the things I cannot forget
Make this the only home for me
I tell the kids and I tell you
Never explain your poetry
Because those who will get it do

The rest will never be impressed
Though they seem cross they are depressed
They say their freedom is not free
And so it seems yet in their dreams
They fly up to where they can see
My house down here where I am found
Wreathed in violet smoke and bound
By dusty lace spun round and round
On transcendental fantasy

I wave to them and say good night
Their bubbles burst upon first light

+Steven Curtis Lance



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