My mind knits mufflers,
        cherry bright red scarves
      for the hell bound masses.              (maybe  "I didn't know."                      is a defense after all.)

       Knit, knit, knit and pearl
"Here, put this on." I tell the lost. "There is a cold coming: a storm.             Wear my scarves."
I put on one myself, (just in case.) I tell myself that it helps
but heart down I know the truth
of how I'll be bared soul and all:
how I have to laugh
at the ridiculous site
of standing bare
butt naked,
my red fringed muffler blowing in the breeze,
trying to answer why.