| Berms and swales crest without care
|
| Clutch sacred vessels, throw salt in the air
|
| Screaming horse under tremulous mass
|
| These near missives shall come to pass
|
| Think it’s time, you and I, headed out
|
| Before the strata flex and widow’s might offer drought
|
| But the clatter and the hiss of all that is amiss
|
| Conspire to concede humility and grace
|
| Come land, come sea, come air or fire
|
| When fissures cleft, tigers and diamonds
|
| Swallowed intact, we can extract retribution
|
| For the clemency, the awkward, the hungry
|
| But the clatter and the hiss of all that is amiss
|
| With self entitlement and pangs
|
| Persistent premonitions and spastic fits of reason
|
| Conspire to concede humility and grace
|
| I guess I thought this wouldn’t happen
|
| I regret being such a terrible person
|
| I had a feeling
|
| Humanize the proceedings
|
| As bedlam
|
| Succumbs
|
| To order
|
| But the clatter and the hiss, no time to reminisce
|
| Kiss the boys and clutch the kids and with a
|
| Promissory bid to step from the grid
|
| Where worldly possessions they can’t mock me
|
| Where worldly possessions they can’t mock me
|
| Where worldly possessions they can’t mock me
|
| They mock me
|
| They mock me
|
| They’re laughing
|
| They mock me |