take a pickaxe to this concrete skull
i do, i take a pickaxe and mine the depths
but what a bloody mess in the digging
while i get stuck with blisters on fingertips
from the hard places that will not break
only small treasures spill forth like pearls
pearls stolen from a forced open oyster
but the raped mind is no place for the timid
and there is no shiny thing that will remain
when i am done every worthy thought
every unworthy thought will lay strewn in the open
to dry like dead salt fish in the sun
as nourishment for the ages and ages to come