pearlmaker.

I’m happy to pass on
in altered form
each piece
of wisdom I have gleaned
from people. All the world. It must
be changed and tweaked in meaning
from this passing through of
me. Oh, since all the world's
an oyster, then
we must make pearls
of all the countless grains
of sand so keen
that slip in slick
to irritate. We coat them,
mother, in your glands'
secretions, so to compensate.
We make such chere objets d'art
of everything annoying
us, which we so hate. We must
remake the world. It’s all
we know to do. And we remake it
in ourselves, in acts of trust
we must renew. We recreate
all we have held.