For I no longer find favor
In your exclusionary arms
No longer embrace the warmth nor kindness
You come lacking all your charms

The eyes have all turned inward
They gaze upon your wall
You have pulled the curtains
Now I feel like Adam after he had made the fall


I am the seed that was turned to grist
By the grinding of your wheel
For I see , I feel , and taste
Your ever consummating will

I was raised a tumble ****
in death was I set free
To roam the plains of noncompliance
by the fickle winds that be

Every day a broken branch
Rounded out in form
Everyday another chance
Was I only to be scorned ?

So I choke on the dust of life
No waters near nor far
Forever will I remember
the child . . .

Sleeping . . .  

in the rear window of the car