Here beauty streams
from the eyes of women
noble and green

Drain the swamp and
hole becomes shithole
how low must one go?

Well-being does not exist
at the top where
one might think

Buried deep where a low is lit;
down there a secret fire
(in the hole of workers, high

schooled students, and the mass
generation not inviolate
where enough is enough)

gathers a viable massa confusa
gnawing at its own rootedness
in an ars requirit

Let that sink in a bit.  Evil is without
autonomy having served its role in
holeness. Joined is high and low in the head

of state; something more passive in matters
consoled sharpens our discernment for
what is real in what merely simulates shit.

Tears cleanse our words, our cloudy ears
our eyes; our throats
adorned in crystal.