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.
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