the soft shell straightjacket of inner peace

carpe noctem per diem 
be auguries the bedpost has a notch
to prick sleep and hemp woven galas
that speak to your forgotten nobility 
with your dance card as full
as your woolen eyes, parched-
parched from too much sun
that swears the moon 
is a misfit, thumbing the dike
where the cosmic you
is never someone
else.

the soft shell straightjacket 
of inner peace
is a halo made of your periwinkle diaspora
slumming it at heaven’s doorstep
for a thousand years
dredge phantom sparkling 
like a total thing
hovering over worlds that beguile
the penitent
lurching into the confines 
of confession
that demand a new day
to have so many
hopes… stunned by the docile gospels
that purge dark winds from the wings
of your winged pests.
so go the lovely things
all about you.
urge proven in the undertow
when even a savior has lost 
a war with your heart
but somehow conquers
You.