Excellent redemption,
holy reputation,
hold me in suspension
in the air,
what's my intention?

(He screams when he lies, and) the
kids with no voices,
they toss and they turn
and we still never learn and

I'm feeling the burn of
my candle that flickers
on my bedside table,
oak wood and old wicker,
like chairs stained with liquor.
Like screened in porches.
Like peaches and plums and
like hot weather sun.

Through clovers we run.