Come In and Become

The man who made his meddle outta' sand, came to my hand, and I kept on begging for a chant, from god- the angels, or even the damned. This locust creeped' into that big house by the street, into the cracks that leaked out the meek, caused my tree's their little leafs, and my cats their skis, I had no proof to see, but it really happened to me... That one day at the Peet's- that one hour of peace, the crease in the page had folded awesomely, at the perfect degree. The sun sparkling, my eye's dozily- crosses into the rolling scheme, and then I become the poetry, lust gets forgotten, power emasculated, hours infatuated, sourcrout steak being heated to the core, girls go out the door, begging in pours, become seated on the porch, sipping tea and eating dessert, never having to flirt, always having a turn, oh yes- come in and become the stress- come into the best, and then take home your vest.