The Holy Cocoon

Look out the window

past the screens and the glass

Where do words come from?

Do they grow like the grass?

To get wrapped in a hammock

the holy cocoon

emerge with ideas, give thanks to moon

Huzzah! and Hooray!

a race to thy drink

when ideas flow so good

more drink, I should think!

Now you fall in a meadow

dance, mon chéri!

can’t believe it’s so good

you must know what I mean

But there still is the window

with a light by the desk

Wait—

Oh, God

Now, let us confess:

I descended from grace

to be born in this place

Yet ‘fore I curl on the ground

please, a drink be allowed?

And when the weed whackers whirr

my body shall stir

A life becomes worms

when you’ve lost all the words