it's visiting walls packed tight with people
possessing the god-forbidden depression
like bait for the fish
to latch onto the lure
substances?
i'm hooked

but to hold on to the victim
is to pull on his life
and rip through the roof
let some light in
and when it no longer visits,
but is crammed into your home;
what's the matter?
the walls are no more depression than
they are roots and soil

do not bring home the dogs
for the dogs can dig
and an act of jealousy
can let it all cave in
but father, do you see?
these roots are not buried
and the seeds will soon sprout
(if you'll let them)
and they'll grow higher than you,
greater than you,
to make it out of the ground
leave you, hound, behind

but you're a barb to get past
and you're attached to alcohol
leaving the only path to follow
be one of the earthworms
and no future ahead
**oh, father.