I'll meet you at this Junction when I've learnt to carry my shame with swagger & to smile before mirrors & received direct sunlight & stopped being shadow or eyes spewing pain on closed palms or a story too sour for the mouth or a room of shattered glasses or a house of weeds or Sodom or wishes or iron battered toes & maybe by then we would have grown beards in this business & learnt the gift in sin & mastered carrying our weight, but before then let's run that this fire burning in the mouths of men wouldn't char our vegetable insides.