On the way to sanctuary I will bypass the apothecary, with questions in my hamper that the rabble-rousers couldn't answer, Elizabeth was kind and took my had. Insurrection on my hot lips, I sit down to humbly pray for hospice, lit by votive candles, in a circle led by middle-level handlers, who profess to help you stand. Suddenly, all eyes were on your man. She said, "You'll never love nobody else, until you love yourself." "I've heard stranger things in church," I smirked, feeling like a jerk, and hobbled home, to put her plan to work. Giggling past the cemetary, floating lighter than a cassowary, family ties long broken, and the wayward son just popping jokes, cause I had finally come to terms with death. And my elder, beared papa has no sympathy for Dada. I can hear his lonesome whisper, in a chiding voice, both slick and limber, explain away the spirit world, one breath, and pray to God, the next. I heard a siren, and it sounded like the voice of something true. I thought a lot about those numbers, and what they must mean to you, cause now I see them, too. Doot-doot-doo-doo-DOOT-doo-doo, and you.