Wednesday, November 14, 2001

Everybody wants to lend some kind of helping hand,
when you're crouched in that ditch,
singing hymns
of the walls around Jericho.

They dig you up and ground you down,
a drinking glass mouthed
and marred by lipstick;
a billfold with folded pictures.

Try not to let them tell you otherwise!
Small, tiny spirits disguised
as rope to tug on.
Oh what a waste they wonder.

posted by HZA | 2:50 PM | email | archive