staffing

   
these are the feast days    
where even our angst    
is a luxury    
   
let us not waste a moment sober    
   
for the dreamtime    
shall end    
and art can't live    
in the awake of shared space    
      
while we can    
tell me of your love    
in pristine phrasing    
weigh me to the bogs bottom    
in lines of alienation    
   
name for me your current    
its source    
and dispersion    
   
but    
   
unless we can    
speak direct to wound    
and watch it heal    
   
then we the poets    
are obsolete