that rusted tin can
that once held all of your dreams
lies crushed beneath life
a heart
may shatter a thousand times
and still flow with the belief
that mankind can be saved
eyes
can so
easily
roll back
into memories
that
blur
reality
the wine stained carpet
holds
oak pews
worn smooth
from
ups-and-downs
pews
where
generic prayers
from hymnal page
twenty-nine
shall we gather at the river
are offered
as indemnification
in the event
that their souls
wash up
on heaven’s shores
hymns
offered in a voice
befitting
their status as
part-time believers
and
full-time seekers
of pleasure
the kinds of folks
you find
every weekend night
hanging tight
with those half their age
youths
impressed
with their worldly wisdom
wisdom
plagiarized
from the new yorker
and
regurgitated
after several glasses
of the
in drink
and though
they died year ago
the shell of their existence
still haunts this earth
with after dinner drinks
in hand
and
fantasies
fluttering around
their corpses
what will you give up
that shows the deepest of love
for the gift of life
bapa dola
said
that belief
is a mountain lake
beneath its clear cold waters
the truth can be see
swimming freely
reachable
but
to grasp it
one must understand
how one’s belief
distorts their view
aunt bea
always says grace
before eating
even if its
some takeout
that i dropped-off
on my way home
from work
she told me
there were times
when
there wasn’t much
on the table
but
family and friends
would stop by for dinner
everyone brought
something
a rabbit
or possum
an uncle had caught
cooked by his wife
some greens and corn
harvested by others
and
the occasional
bottle of whiskey
given as gift
from a wealthy employer
for
house cleaning
well done
and
even though
it wasn’t as much
as some folks had
everyone left
with
a full helping of love
Read Between the Minds 