from Melissa Etheridge’s Seminal 1993 Album Made of Two Overlapping Triangles Instead of One
Compromise
How fitful is our sleep
All of us
In this process of leaving
The slow transgression
Of so much sand
That is each grain another
This death of conscience
Keeps us awake by increased degree
But what of the landlocked narwhal
And those impervious to heat
Fahrenheit wears the mask
Moments expired
And there is no jail like this one
Wherein we go free
When we surrender
Enough times as it takes
To breathe