Kick a can of language down the road.
Kick to get it loud and kick it long.
You've got to feel inside the white witch code;
Sometimes you'll get it right - more often wrong.
Kick! And hear the rapture of the crash,
See the flecks of letters wetness on the ground
Some will be right; mostly random trash.
But then, amid the noise, a new note found?
You never know what rebel freedom hides
With allegiance to unknown darker moons
That wash the soul with sideways tides
That smooth the self-sand of those ancient runes.
Now our gentle paces lead up to open fields
To walk a path that only our unknowing yields.