candied candide

vouch for me, please

simple white gate to the outside.

inside has been stewing long,

long wide waves of introspection

high as a heart attack

slosh the cauldron's iron sides,

fraught with crumbs from the alchemist.

surely you understand, simple white gate,

for as the adjacent edifice

and the membrane 

(though i question your permeability)

you bear sole witness to these things.

bell, jar, cat, cradle.

the worlds do need a veil between them,

but seven makes a wall.

seekers (some inadvertant)

dig tunnels, smuggle, harbor dynamite

for the day impending 

for the wall's dismantling,

if you could call it that.

the inside will be capistrano

the outside a grove of walnut trees, demure

almost virginal,

pre-squirrel and frost 

so the swallows can choose.

it's like crying after he gives you a knife to protect yourself.

it's like hating naked windows at night.

it's like self-sequestering.

it's like seething.

it's like seeing.