Hey, you angels.
You who aint sinners, or spinners, or
Kindling for hell.
All you strangers,
Everything for nothin’, or everything for
What you compel.
Don’t be afraid
To echo your sadness and nourish
Each empty glove.
If she was a maid
She’d be made to be glad and flourish
And seek love.
So we’re enchanted
By that which we buy and save
Lucky tomorrow.
We stay where we’re planted
In homes, small towns, and caves
Break don’t borrow.
Hey, believers.
Wake up to his starry breath
Break bread and bottles.
Don’t deceive her.
The woman put to death
For reading Aristotle.
Hey, you hills.
The ones just over there and gone.
Sleepy stones.
A Patient’s pills.
The one’s right here and on and on.
Are for kidney stones.
Don’t keep
You are of a different kind
Collected or thrown.
Try not to sleep
The clock and your bones will grind
You were barely known.