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.