This is not a flying cold
this is doing the usual things
in a tilted world

crawling on sore knees
over the sharp rings in the metal
of a fallen spiral staircase

Keep going, keep going, take a rest
in a corner of the turn
till fear loves me again

till my ears go again
with what I see and feel
in the storm of my thoughts

till my intestines fall in place
in the witches' cauldron
and my emotions come home

from suffering
from the lesser evil
to everyone who loves me