we are here

walking with pilgrims

minding your feet

manners

footsteps sweat

trying not curse

on this path of the lord

but life is for living

& this burden

makes minds backs mouths

sore to burn

stopping to rest

at a clear water spring

eating talking laughing

not thinking of miles

ahead behind to do

& tomorrow

will come along easy

as you pick up your pack

set those boots swinging

lets go look at the view

begin to try

to understand why

we are here

on the train

trying to shift my head

out of the dawn sun

slicing through the glass

as they witter on on on

& he said so I said

she said so I turned to her

& said what about…?

the struggles of the working poor

trying to make sense

out of the everyday

striving for jesus make the day

to knock soft on heavens door

hope for a place at the table

home for those worn out feet

& I would love them more

if there was a bottle between us

something to take

the edge off away

help me get into the zone

prepare me lord

help me earn my pay

curmudgeon

hell lets go out!

was always her call

& L called me a curmudgeon

not wanting the bright lights

but I’d gather myself together

set out for the show

& sure enough

she loved the fakery

show her something shiny

bit of movement & all

& they loved her right back

while my role

seemed to be place holder

bag carrier foil to the feast

watching & waiting

something to take hold

these pretty boys recycling

old routines words & feet

to drive her home

hearing her fabulous’es

marvellous’es wonderfuls

thinking

I did not really understand

or know her

in the least

had we been in the same place?

kept in concrete

standing on the corner

feeling the wind on my face

little flecks of rain

& I could go west go south

forward or back

stay here for a little while more

the choice is mine to make

& somewhere is calling

time to find my way home

thinking of times my feet

were not mine to control

stuck in places times

feeling nothing but alone

when freedom was just a word

for others to throw like a stone

while they kept me in concrete

that of immediacy & now

there is a fancy name

out there in the literature

female narcissistic disorder

& rightly we have concerns

some sense of sadness

about all of that

but in the felt world

that of immediacy & now

we call her the poison dwarf

she has told her story for so long

even she believes every word

working to rack up sympathy

cadres of helpers fight the fight

against this uncaring riven world

our poor soul sinned against

& I admire the artistry in design

the lines eliciting call response

if despising the motive hidden

for vengeance on those

who do not worship at her feet

forced to home

the urge to run

was always

always

there

problem being

I had no place

ideas of where to run to

it seemed every time I turned

each corner held another beast

more unkind eyes & ways

everybody wanted something

with nothing to live for

where I wanted nothing

had something to give

& this need to run to peace

somewhere to sit for a while

catch my breath

find my own thoughts

kept escaping me

as my feet

were forced to home