Some days are meant to be sat down and spoken to like children
In the dark, I will pretend that this day is one of those
Clear the fiction and fact and fiction from every hotel room
That was ever privy to any secrets that hotel rooms maintain
Be alive until the day of your death and on that day you will be
Deadly in your rotting heart and alive in your growing nails
Cry only when you have been given explicit permission
To allow the display of your excess emotion
Take a picture of every creation that you meet in your life
Except for those that you yourself have created
And then you can ask yourself
Is that how you speak to children?
