Electic Glass Casket Poem by Keith Michael

I know you see the squirrel walk the line and run into the nearest hole, but where does it go? were not so sure but we do know if we follow it we won't get anywhere except back to where we are…the sinks overflowing with yesterdays news and i just can't get bb to stop playing that jazz.bring the picnic baskets filled with delight and compassion but tucked away are our greatest fears which we have no recollection of….open it and let them go, pour them on the grass and forget where they came from, just remember to live here on out