WITH PERSONAL TICKETS

 
 
Very close, too close to thirty. The moves, gestures, and cheap, deliberate actions set the course of adulthood! Bald hair follicles in- 
Painted with pity by old Time: Let society see if it pity or trample him down Who walks crookedly, waddling, and ashamed of himself, and courting. Eyes unblinking, honest in their gaze 
A child weeps, wails, and cries!
 
"You should have started a family long ago, you rotten scoundrel!"
 - The Robinson of one's conscience goes inwards: 
The secret haunts of unknown blood-blood-bloods, the safe homes of heart-ports, 
He seeks ever more urgently for he cannot find his own rest! 
 
Under the skin of heart-cups tears 
with crocodile-water tears: 
up and down grind the still gnashing, lonely teeth! 
- But still above is rich in secrets, 
Priceless gifts the Eye keeps! Salt and vulnerability! 

The pieces of flesh hung on spiked rolls still move inwardly 
The acts of the muscle, by the law of internal commandment, And over and over again the chewed, soul-tormenting 
years come, though they come with a drag! In irreversible order comes the point: 
The guilty weight of misfortunes: DNAs' encoded house rules preserve biological inheritances, And spiritual intelligence grows only on the hands of faithful witnesses! 
 
- They are cast in leather, so that human Morality may still have continuity: 
Black spots in the soul, lessons to be learned: Red dots!