Movement, doing time in the little box room
The sun burns the window shade a deep red ochre
The emptiness, the silence, the rattle of the mind
Courageous fool flying deep for that Sunday football
A teacher throws a kid against the wall
I'm sitting on the edge looking down at the world
God is nature, how empty we are without it
The fools are wrecking the planet and living in denial
The little red house on Mars with a driveway and a mailbox
The free man stands outside looking at the splendor
A dinosaur gets a boob job, goes to a bar entices the males and eats the clientele
The cottonwood leaf rides the water, it twists and turns in the pull of the current
The crust forms on the lid of my bucket of home brew, Chris asks me if I'm going to drink that?
I sit on the roots of the cottonwood tree and watch the hawk glide the sky like the kite I used to play with
The Winter is leaving and we are moving to a different climate
Few have the patience anymore to sit and read in the easy chair
The authoritarians plot for a major power play, they are counting on us to forget that we are their slaves.
No comments:
Post a Comment