The Tools

Who thought a meek guy            
cover'd in blue yogurt could
write such thoughtful songs?

A song about splits,                
be it the atom or the
church or the union.

A song about curves                
of the square variety,
all symmetrical.

A spiraling song,                
pushing outward beyond the
bounded perception.

A song about floods,                
drowning the toxic cesspool
that is angelic.

The eleventh song,                
set in Ohio under
a sky so barren.

A song about the                
information inside the
nucleus, four six.

A funeral song                    
for the one who told us that
life is just a ride.

An ode to Karl Marx,                
opiated overdose,
stunting mental growth.

A deep current song,                
how a drowning metaphor
leads to clarity.

An angular song,                
cannot be constructed with
a compass or edge.

A song about names,                
the story of the pot and
the kettle so black.

A song about light,                
the refracting complement,
in tune and in line.

A song of vengeance,                
a thirst so great that scarlet
is all they will see.

A song of vision,                
clouded by an illusion,
pleading for relief.

A song about depth,                
minus the stench of sewage,
crossing that one line.

They reside inside,                
the tools necessary to
crack this puzzle box.