Partial laundry
lazy thought
the whites and the colors
it begins with the spots
and we sort it all out
combing crumbs from our hair
and as we slide into our own
we start to feel the pinch of our stares
Never-weather will always be
and evidently you're still
unhappy.
Something close inside of me
begs the question of eternity
but something closer still to see
shines too bright for such a speech.
No one wants your God and bread
No one needs your hand in hand.
The sorted and clean will find a way out;
a scapegoat and a martyr,
an election that doesn't count.
A breathless wonder standing taller than time
and in a few short seconds
&
a rev of the engine
Such a sight is simply lost
with no way to rewind.
It begins with the spots
and we sort it all out.
We fix things, we say
but we really tear them all down.