Devil Hand Puppet

Thoughts in tutus. Thoughts in Camo.

Wattage disguised as bass violins.

Devil hand puppet in a basket,

Too small now to put my hand in.

A plague of truth. A disease of meaning.

I drink tea, not whiskey, now.

From the basket a thin voice,

"Let all men buy or load another round.

Truth outside this moment

Never will be found."

No, let our good hearts lead us,

Not someone else's preached

And lectured lies.

The children of our karma

And of our dreams

Will find us by and by.