It’s time to slip on the velvet gloves of revolution and kill bad men.

Brother, you don’t have it so bad that the crawdads have started crawling through your dreams. No noisy brook or kicked fence has kept you from aspirations others call foolish.

Kept awake by technicolor memories of reckless glory. Nights where youth sang hot-blooded songs of challenge and like the myrmidons on the beach of Troy, you answered.

It’s not that you lose courage as you age, but ignorance. The brash charge slows to a measured step. And for all the scoffs and regrets, life requires the call of undaunted action.

Powdered sugar steps cross the divide between inane and inviting. Tip toeing around desires like light night bathroom trips in old houses. Floorboard creak regrets for every dream not voiced.

It’s in the slow fall into bed where your head rests on a yellowed pillow when you ask yourself when you became afraid to dream past nighttime.

When did sparkling thoughts lose shine past the divide of what is and what is to come?

And so, and thus, and so——