'broken glass' - poetry by david love lewis, music and performance by alan dyson
i'm so glad your soul
belongs to jesus, lately your good manners
and much else have eluded me;
we promised no more nukes,
no more point-blank sights, but you
need to zero in, to wield the cerem0nial knife:
a feral child thrashing away with occam's razor.
that's why i had to get out
and see the world or at lest the plush
mamas on the other side of the street.
naked and forked, i forked my way
to the other side of lonely avenue;
sure all the time you saw me from
your lighted window and disapproved.
and when they left me bruised and bleeding,
as hungry for death as death in life can be,
you scolded and screamed and called me lost
and wrote me off.
by god's mercy i didn't die; step by step
on the muddy road back i called distance
from you a good thing' a thick clot hearsay
poisoned what was left of your milk's kindness.
we had one more run in us, and made it;
pilgrims dazzled with our brilliant runs---
fast eddie and calamaity jane dance in
quick time and promised each other more.
and if the songs stop now, i will be blamed,
pilloried in a sheet of fire for some real slight
or some imagined neglect: i have called too much
or not enough.
there's only one thing left i'd like to know---
can you still trip the lightning and catch
its glow in your clear smooth jar and hold
it up like a child, as surprised as anyone
with its brassy glow?
these others catch their fireflies and are satisfied;
and i would be too if i didn't know,
hadn't always known
david love lewis