a day, already into its riches of billions
of years, adds another day to its nouveau riches;

the soup of space droppings fall daily, making
mountains of mole hills as she bursts; her skin
molten, white-hot as she feels better. for a while.

a Universal nudge-nudge startles us, for we, Godly,
passing every thing but temptation, feel Heaven bound.
while we mount our horses, wield our Claymores to slash

to the death, anyone different; our forefathers were
soldiers so our fathers could be farmers, so their
sons could be poets; we are coming full-circle.

04/22/2011

Posted on 04/22/2011
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan