Monday, April 25, 2011
Paint lines blurring by
Though crawling is all we're doing.
Set in, fatigue, set in
So I don't have to disguise the isolation.
'Catch for us the foxes,' he says.
But what shall I do if foxes are all I've got?
Breathe on me, Spirit. Breathe,
For my lungs can't take the pressure.
Let today be another Pentecost
and tomorrow be the Eschaton.