Let's be Real with Ourselves

Looking at life through the ticks and clicks,
of a box-toothed, straight-faced, mummy,
mouth chattered, with the vibration,
of bats clattering against its hollow interior.

Maybe this place needs a designer,
or perhaps we just want everything to be pretty,
like a girl applying makeup before bed,
with the comfort of being presentable,
but her only visitor is a pillow,
which takes the smears of her restless sleep kindly,
smudging and removing the get-up,
until when morning comes it smiles,
with the broken collage of a mismatched notion.

No, there must be an outdoors,
away from the decorative ballroom,
where mud and grass and bees have free reign,
in a dominion with little rules and vast bounds,
where we are allowed to stub our toes,
or scrape our feet upon a stone and bleed,
to let our insides spill out in a splash of color,
and understand why the animals laugh without reserve.