prose vs. joes

walden freeman

so in conclusion
there are more thieves
than banks than rivers than beds
in hospitals, cold and miserable
and i am far too sick to go anywhere

alone, i've soldered shut
my soldier mouth
i'm the second son
of a second son
who sets the stage
being impeded by improv artists

but change is coming:
candles won't melt but leaves will stay
deathtolls will rise and clouds will judge
hands will demand to be paid
for their time on the clock
spinning tires will tire and oddly
there will be more revolutions