Monday, December 17, 2007

poem 1

no more tears at the end of the trail
she gave up her last ones to the ghost of St. Francis
the morning continues unless it's forgotten
America sits on it's hooves
I gave up after ten odd years
there are no more sonnets just jingles
we treat ourselves ugly
and the tower just keeps on burning behind the old oak grove

my faith is as broken as tonsils on Sunday
I still hear the earth moving under my toes
just trying to keep in the tidal wave of God's Love
no boats are floating beside the deep waters
she sits on the stone bench and asks me to surrender
but I can't estimate where I'm going from here

I tingle at thoughts of new toys but desire new meaning

a discovered taste in milk
never fiddle with that which is unbroken

the mortgage that gave me this life is paid off

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