Just starting to
Develop out of the
Box. Outside of the circle
Out of the whirlwind, the things
The wind would do to live a life to
Be heard running out of the scorching sun
To the dancing head music, the waking memories
In the dailies called obituaries of hope. Mother's were
Once children, you know. Fire quenches itself, not love
When hate is a twenty- five feet
Skyscrapper-slim glass house,
Talking to the blue sky, never forget,
Never sit on a blade runner,
He might take you for an intruder