the very holy snowflakes
discovered by horn-blowing fools,
lovers
such as we,
melt back into toasted rivers
following legends of the Sabbath Day
with each abandoned trail,
there lies messages not found inside bible poems
synthesized and corrected by men hoping for action
(or their erections),
but the few wise ones
will know when to become objective
and once the sanctified reading concludes
and all that survives is the loneliness
dividing God from His brother gods,
desperate days ahead may reveal
afternoons without worry in the sunlight,
when we may freely breath
waving to the children
running alongside the trains
back to Jordan
11/17/70