Two Spirits Become One

Support my sporty cranial mittens as a soft sport cheerleader in mid-sentence cussing at you, half-a-grandson, for gouging out your eyes. Let me tell you all the while, half full, my cocktail tastes fine like silver at the end of a gun. Don’t stop to sip. Don’t stoop there to pray. Say it all the way. Say it with a desperate conjured display of vigilance. Say it for fun because you believe in it. Be brave slipping out of a headdress like someone toeing a cliff. Chief of Tsalagi. Shapeshifting thief. You outdid yourself again in disbelief. Don’t take yourself out of the question for me. Put your answer where you’d like it to be. Delicate for now? Forever the patriarch! Once a small mark now painting the population. Go ahead and shake your fist at my generation. But please support my sporty cranial mittens. I’m old and innocent. I haven’t the means to scratch out my own eyes but still have the courage to admit it.