.
.
I place before you a bowl of evidence
but will never make you eat
Chance is what you’re up against:
the only is of me you meet
You can pray until your tongue expires
and never know my heart’s desire
I roll the future out mysteriously,
you trace my trail of crumbs through mires
You profusely write of who I am
as if I were like you a man
You cannot know the I of me
unless you crack the I of thee
In the light and in the gloom
I beat a drum and hum your tune
.
by Jim Culleny
1/24/14
.
.
by Jim Culleny
1/24/14