Epode Poem by robert dickerson

Lay down your gun, man, it's midnight.
No one can understand anothers' sorrow.

Just don't ever play that number again.
Not everything you see is a mirage.

A broken doughnut gets a dirty dollar.
A crooked prayer, breathed, gathers

A fortune in boomerangs.
Why do you hesitate to wonder?

Shuffle the pages, bow, wipe the cups,
Beat the earth, it could've been elsewise:

A pure heart and a dirty mind
Is not such a bad combination.

Here, man, take what's left
Of the miraculous eraser.

Night, the Wind, Morning,
And in a small valise-the leaves.