Finally by the height of words I topple
and let it be, writing myself blind instead
of crime, I say it was dialouge which should
free. They say you of course sir are out your mind
but please continue lead. I can conduct a prayer or
two save a mass or swollen shores, dark angel light
or light on floor, guiding, indifferent to the sun
which shines, say I outshine me.
One last call, yet no alcohol, or smoke consumes
My needs, it is the last lent hope of your laughing
hope, as the dark night air upon me feeds.
All in search and call to restore it all
one man aided, standing guard
at one last tree and door.
Christopher Baird 2011 ©
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