AND the pot of gold was resting
there by the contraption of another world
so baby cry, cry, cry and are we old enough
as a world to know baby
we can cry and laugh holding
planets and stars within our hands
yes, we are old enough my smiling
baby Jesus’ with a message at the
train station of life and death.
Especially the voices of crying
children who remember to know better
so cry baby we all try to hold on
to the future of our best wishes
and mostly we’re all programmed
by that way-station on the other side;
our hands holding unknown things
our minds almost remembering them
historical amnesia is our diagnosis
so baby cry
so baby try
so my oh my
greed is an infection
muted voices a reflection
and all the tears like metal
the smell of static like space
lost astronauts in twisted steel
and the pot of gold resting there
by the contraption of another world
making my mind scream.
:: 09-28-2017 ::