Guest
God. A glass is empty for the faith to full it, Water pouring from the finger which did, Lighter lightning and a son to be born, I am praying dark blue on a green, green lawn. ’’Where do these changes bring us to? What are these changes similar to? Similar to being similar to… Who it is, who? Where do these changes bring us to? What are these changes similar to? Similar to being similar to… As a matter of fact thank you.’’ An exchange of lungs for the candles, Under my ribs are Christ’s sandals Burning to plant a double tree - Its roots stretch long out of my left knee. What the fly is vaguely flying? Maybe she is flying crying Of another butterfly dying Or of another fly crying. Does the dog know what is happening Waving the tail in her childish sleeping Running forward and thus it grows, - The ceiling knows, the ceiling knows. ’’Where do these changes bring us to? What are these changes similar to? Similar to being similar to… Who it is, who? As a matter of fact thank you.’’ Should I write this poem down? Just to amuse another clown, Make him suffer and then in the same water drown. To order Pierrot the clown never frown.
