Dear Michele
My Sister’s fence
Has no Gate …
But a space
Through which
i enter.
(Dear Michele, the days here are numberless…)
REMARK: Time is NOT a linear progresion…
LIVED TOO LONG, have I?
A Garden
…of Tree STUMPS
Rocks
and Swordgrass…
flowers dying
in the gutter;
or Prisoners in neat
clean
rows…
(the BEST of us
ARE
Bloody and Bowed,
or/and
Become UGLY
…if not born so…)
MY CHURCH
My church
is on the
Streets of Amarika,
Where
the Healing
Needs to begin
(the “homeless” are
Amarika’s
“bitter medicine…”)
SEATTLE, April 1994
Maneuvering between
WALLS of cars,
WALLS of steel and glass
Corridors of
City…
REMARK: In the Spring, God laughs,
And it’s ALWAYS Spring SOMEWHERE…
We are CRUCIBLE;
EARTH is CRUCIBLE
God says:
“in Perverse Rebellion
against ME,
You are DESTROYING
my BEST WORK:
YOURSELVES!!!!!”
THE GATEWOOD
the Gatewood
is a place where
Wanderers
and
Desperados
Turn in
their beat-up Suitcases,
their dusty Road Shoes
…for better or for worse…
And start collecting
Plastic Bags
and
Thrift Shop Bric-a-Brac