Sleeping Cranes
Wyoming Citrus Company
the frost is chasing all the swallows from the branches of the citrus treesand the sun is shaking itself loose from the cattail threads and winter wheat,colonizing the snow inside the lonely orchard aisles and coughing gravel streetswhile my citrus grove laments the wyoming soil beneath its feetthe rocks and the lizards are all speakingin a language with which my ears can't seem to movejust because i've got nothing left to provedoesn't mean i've got nothing left to dopatterns are pasted on the walls and stack ten high inside our rugaed brainsthough their architecture constructs no truth that i can humbly claimthey mold most elegant pots and jars and bowls out of the finest claywhere i can bootleg excuses from all the fast fermenting blamei've excused myself from my reflectionand any consequence for this body i abusebut just because i've got nothing left to prove does't mean i've got nothing left to dothe setting sun surrounds me like a softly swelling symphonythe stars are shedding their black robes, naked punctuation amongst infinitythe've got no fevered dreams to sweat or destination to dictate their shapeall paths will lead me nowhereand there's no purpose to glorify my movesbut just because i've got nothing left to provedoesn't mean i've got nothing left to do.
From Letras Mania