Effrontery to My Hesperides

No more sweaters nor looking out into the high, dark night. Sitting stone still overwhelmed by the countless possibilities.

Once, mad-splendor existed. And, dead tutors whispered truths I painted on a wall.

After certainty and solitude of thought...uncertainty and life seems unlivable. Successfully anyways. The paint is still there. I think. Covered by white layers of clean, godly paint. Moma's paint. A good sleepers paint.

Walking toward my red door, I grabbed the cold, steel knob. The truth rung in my temples and out my mouth. True maybe truer than the scripture on the wall.