Paz the sister
the walking sun – the blister
strong cracked wheat,
carol singing peasants with calloused feet.
Bring on faith without fortune
in the face of pollution
in a town hell bent on solution.
Be the gumption that doesn’t mind
the endless fines, the sordid sorrow,
empty pots of no tomorrow.
Pour cataclysms of melted gold into steel reserves with rusted bottoms,
if they never fill it will be to soon,
for one heart or for the moon.