Here is your goodnight. Polite, hopeful
And nothing before the sheer grey face
Of sleepless nights, immeasurable,
Unscalable like the marriage of business
And compassion. Our bodies shed themselves
Every seven years, our human race
Is always decomposing and your
Eutopia will always be found
In the jester’s empty eye sockets.
There are more things in the dark of those holes
Than can be dreamt of in your insomnia,
Than can be found at the piercing end
Of your sword of oaths and dark omens,
Than can be won when time has come to act.