Will your life be too smooth
When it’s over
Or the rough of happiness
Caught in the throat
On your expiration date
Death
Achieves its aesthetic success
Marvels the audience
Till they too are on their feet
Whispering to stars
Make use of what you peruse
Aim was made to be wrestled
If not
For the whirlwind in your heart
The sky would not be round
naïve haircuts 