It was raining blows.
It was mincing words.
It was bouncing on me.
It was grinding me.
I sit at the end of the yard
I see the true end of the string
Long, winding it goes
Leading my thoughts through the needle
I didn't know that
tombstones are greedy.
I came to talk to you,
and they all looked at me,
The call has been sounded,
yet we swing from pillar to post.
The sounding of the call astounds
Keeping my foot on the pedal has to
be done to keep this bike
on the path.
Behind the clashes of our clan
Stands one woman who is as tall
As she is as thin and destructive.
Let us call her Getrude for I guess
For I have come to just put this candle,
here down here in this hole, where bats fly,
where birds sing during the day on these trees,
and as I walk away, the light shines on,
The deep of the depth,
is truly deep. It rises
and falls in the drip.
These catacoombs of my
This misty cloud full of rain,
Cannot deliver it's point in pain,
Unless you watch it, for in it stirs
a new born.