the mud trials

through the mud, face deep/thick i ask for stories, whispers brought in from the darkness, a child that waits in the rain for satisfaction, for songs to sing (ones not yet written),

and pages turn in your life and mine, in any life so fast we can't keep up keep close enough to pull free our feet from the mud, from the seawind that comes down from the coast, comes across like sewage scents from houston and lousiana (nature is like that- a giggler)

and the sun dires the mud on our faces, the mud on our shoes, the mud we live thorugh live with -make us holy with un-wasted yearnings and hidden-depth:

let's get on with the rain runs already and march on march on march on to wherever it is we're going

(where is that exactly?)

2004-06-25 | 3:31 p.m.
0 comments so far