Tears
The crystal rags
Viscous tatters
Of a worn-through soul
Moans

The night has been long,
The wound has been deep,
The pit has been dark,
And the walls have been steep.
Under a dead blue sky on a distant

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing

A last love,
proper in conclusion,
should snip the wings
forbidding further flight.
But I, now,

Pretty women wonder where my secre
I’m not cute or built to suit a fa
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,

You drink a bitter draught.
I sip the tears your eyes fight to
A cup of lees, of henbane steeped
Your breast is hot,
Your anger black and cold,

The highway is full of big cars
going nowhere fast
And folks is smoking anything that
Some people wrap their lies around
And you sit wondering

I’ve got the children to tend
The clothes to mend
The floor to mop
The food to shop
Then the chicken to fry

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone

Soft grey ghosts crawl up my sleev
to peer into my eyes
while I within deny their threats
and answer them with lies.
Mushlike memories perform