Kneeling between lanes on a freeway and
suddenly standing up, looking at the face of whatever
abusive, lethargic, tragic asshole
that really squats on the golden throne, shaking miracle-sticks up there.
When we can realize that our mother
or father or nanny or God or anyone that ever cared
for you never quite cared as much as you thought, if
you even exist to them that
we first really lick the twist off the top of
the ice cream cone
and taste happiness; taste the smooth
that numbs the rest of the world.