our days are normal

grabbing the Now off the breath of your mouth

how strange an orgy is life on the fly

like rabbits hopping from leaf to leaf

to sustain their litter while drinking milk

o what a helluva dream for partridges to flock

pretending to be other than what their feathers proclaim

standing at the edge of a field of grain

as rabbits fear bones left by gray wolves afar

we spot the honeysuckle crawling along the wall

and dismiss the gun leaning on the thorn

bedraggled questors

we drag our rag-covered selves from one beggar to another

hoping to touch comfort

or

find an answer to our quest

we are  bedraggled questors longing for satisfaction

struggling to live from this moment to the next

we're a parade of hobos decorating local streets

clothed in the vesture of ministers of shit

filthy, funky, faint

walking ahead

moving toward the Light