When you simply are decaying, out of sort with your true form,

Just remember, there’s a mind inside that head of yours-

Beneath a layer of dense tissue, and two inch of stiffened bone,

There is a mind, and it is thinking, but it’s not the only

One, two, three…

Four stationary moths on a stucco ceiling-

You can count them; you can count them, if you’d like to.

You’re invited; you’re invited to a light inside of me-

You can see it; you can see, if you’d like to.