Words spoken through a light box
To the headlights in the review.
The door pushes through the cold
Clamoring to get in, as a chatter's letting out
Walk to the door in the same mossy steps
The same glass breath from standing too close to the door
He never knew there would be more
Who ever said there couldn't be more
Strangers taking place of the most welcomed past
That warm, but do not burn in the presence of fire.
And as God's will's desire, I preach
And to these teachers I teach what they taught
A homebaked good packaged and store bought
Inspiration for a generation I forgot let simmer in the kettle
Of the well-wishers, the poisoners, and the pots.
No comments:
Post a Comment