Beneath these Palmolive hands, grey mutters
something about excess and simplicity

Anubis and Thoth wait, replete with justice,
for these gleaming carnal smiles to fade to something

pure.  Desire obeys vision, but sweat always gives way
to Sol.  Soul.  That's what I'm all about, man.

What I've achieved, they'll take and feed to Libra
and if the feather remembers its former purpose...

But the wind isn't always strong enough to blow
this man down.  Tao.  That's what I'm all about, man.

This poetic exodus from exctasy to exile is excessive,
but one needs a dichotomy to shake up that scale.

I don't want to write another sad chapter
so I'll just close the book, put down the pen, and say goodnight.

Goodnight.