a funeral procession down a tree-lined lane
of rusted derelicts, old trucks - hoods
raised as tombstones in long, untended yards,
past a one-window shanty leaning precariously
as a child's crayon drawing put quickly together [...]
Carl Sandburg wrote, "Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance." These are my words, a restless substitute for flight, pooling around my feet. Both song and poetry, I hope you enjoy.