masonry leaves, firecombs,
fire of guts. passion
hair scratch of dying flags
I want a place to knive dive
Into something now
The time is borne
The corn is milkened the almonds filled
Oklamnic breeze fading
Less than the morrow flajakling is
Getting more understandable
Walking up dawn
The things of our pasts are merging
Confronting
We’re loving the cracked tiles
Of our foundations
But…
All the tears of the savanna
Drip into the cold pool
At the bottom of my heart
I wonna down a bottle fast
Stare at the sun till everything disappears
and all is warmth and light
but the sun of the old yard feels gone
forever