Inside out,
but still separate.
Hope for style,
simple denials of the
sordid kind.
How could you ask
for maybe more?
The house
won't win you over,
won't spin stories so
you can ignore.
How can we cope?
Still the slope of madness
will win us over.
Still the plan will
always spin the clovers
with the three leaves.
Can't we win?
Or we'll starve the sins
of the overactive minds
till we win assurance. 

Tides and tithes that bind us all.
Hope that loses in the fall.