45*21

it's loose strings that keep us bound
an indifference that is gathering
behind silhouettes blackened by light
a storm is gathering
it is steam as it rises
The monkey man has been selling me a line
the curtain tears as it rises
All the bees have died from infection
along the lines that suffocate
all past emerging thought of injection
The grounds have been kept neat
a guitar solo that bleeds
in a room, the person in need
I fell into a deep slumber
under the garden wall
the wonderful shade of stacked lumber
there is no need to be silent
the night is growing fast into eternity
and the houses now radiant
as we make our way into the grove
along the edges of the stove