My Faith Is A Great Weight Hung

We Are All Writing God's Poem.

Let The Light Be Called Day So That Men May Grow Corn Or Take Busses.

Take A Woman Talking, Purging Herself With Rhymes, Drumming Words Out Like A Typewriter, Planting Words In You Like Grass Seed. You'll Move Off.

The Snow Has Quietness In It; No Songs, No Smells, No Shouts Or Traffic. When I Speak My Own Voice Shocks Me.

All Considerations For These Human Remains! They Must Have An Escort! They Are Classified!