I played the harp
In a pigsty,
Thinking if I played for long enough they might
Turn away
From their feed
So that I could steal a handful of their beans.
Sleeping on
A pile of hayseed,
I will sink until I'm underneath the floor;
And like Job
Said to his Lord:
You will look for me but I will be no more.
I have knocked
With friendly face
On the door that keeps the world in its place;
When no one came,
I realized
That I was knocking on the front door of my house.
So this is my
Quiet ascension;
I'm not one for tearing schisms in the sky:
A little meat,
A little bread,
And my parents holding candles by my bed.

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