Turnips

Are you so real as to forget a dream?

Or will you dwell inside the shell of night

For taught you were beneath the moon’s blue beams

To breathe warm rain and trees and light.

Is it so good to sit in piles of paint

And crawl the halls too bored to know you’re there?

You talk and walk as if you were a saint

And flap as if you think there isn’t air

But somewhere know you can’t escape them now

The Fae entreat and you must return to loam

To sing and dance while bleeding like a sow

Just know you will set off to always roam

Soon turnip eyed you’ll walk along the streets

In flannel rags you’ll wrap up your cold feet.