Coming Over the Open Horizon

Coming over the open horizon My eyes prospect the garish cliffs of day And find not gold in the morning light By sorrow sifted away. But there and there across each state The subtle sun of spring A new crop harrowing brings Into view ... and crows cawing to devour The contentless cases of crumbled minds Tent cities, like old cotton bales Tent cities, like cold rotten tales Of gypsy curses bringing here Retributions of brambled despair And I panning through tears Turned away from the condition That was for my history the predetrmined condition But I could not shake the thought Of butterflies by spiders caught.