stories

I ve freed the land
Of honesty and made
A king of myself.

I ve mastered an empty me
To let another you
grow within.

I ve killed the hand
that fed me and now
There is a guiltful pride
Sticking at edges
Of round pots of manure.

A number of years
A land of people
Here or there,
East or West
A common man in
A common world
With no commonness.

The Time

Was there a tinkling of a bell
When cherubiums sang that Gabriel rang?
Quick soft feets climbed the air and
Blew the trumpet that spread the
Darkness into bright.

Lil manger well-prepared
Within the land of Bethlehem